The Luck of Little Hangleton
by pipenerd
Summary: Three pairs of lovers, a few magical revelations, a tribe of noble fairies, some Shakespearian verse, but this tale about the visit of Tom Riddle and Harry Potter to Little Hangleton is no Midsummer Night's Dream! Slash: HP/TRLV. Chaptered. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

The Luck of Little Hangleton – Prologue by Pipenerd (2006)

Written for the 2006 Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to**: Sabrina Nubair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs:** Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

The village of Little Hangleton has been inhabited since antiquity. In the earliest days, Celtic tribesmen built a fort on the hill overlooking the river and the rich lands below. These folk raised livestock and farmed, wove cloth and made leather goods. During Roman times, farms were built in the valley and the fort fell out of use. Yet some people continued to visit the old fort on the hill with offerings of food and flowers in the belief that helpful spirits inhabited the place.

With the arrival of the Normans, the village began to prosper. A noble knight, Sir Guilliame de Ryedel, received property as a gift from the King and built a manor on the hill. Hunting one summer day and caught in a sudden storm, he sought shelter in the old fort. The next day he brought home a wild and beautiful woman to be his bride. Their marriage flourished, as did Little Hangleton. Tradesmen were attracted to the estate and village to provide the many services needed by the large medieval household. The old forest was set aside as the private hunting preserve of the nobility and because the livestock were still allowed to roam free within its precincts, relations between the lord and the farmers were harmonious.

Two fine children were born to the lord and lady of Little Hangleton. Simon, the eldest son, was educated in all the skills expected of a knight and the heir of a noble estate. When the time came to marry, it was assumed he would have a bride from France. Instead, one night a wild and beautiful girl appeared at the gate to the manor and soon after, she and Simon were wed. The family and the village continued to burgeon. Plague and famine struck other towns, not Little Hangleton. Wars resulted only in the enrichment of the Ryedel holdings. The herds were always fat, the harvests always abundant. Folk began to whisper that the village luck stemmed from an alliance the Ryedel lords concluded with the fairies from the fort and that prosperity would last as long as the sons took a fairy bride. The folk of Little Hangleton continued to visit the old fort on the hill with gifts of food and flowers. Young girls sometimes went there to ask for the love of a special boy and parents to pray for a sick child.

Generations passed and Little Hangleton continued to be a rich farming community. Folk still raised livestock and farmed, wove cloth and made leather goods. Industrialization was something people read about in the newspapers from the big cities. Then, against tradition, Sir Thomas Riddle married a girl from London. People began to notice there was less demand for the cloth woven at the local mill. The sons of the town left to fight in Flanders and many never returned. As the Riddle's only son approached manhood, the oldest villagers wondered whether he would bring home a wild and beautiful bride.

Instead, Tom Riddle ran off with the daughter of the poorest family in town. The young man returned home alone a year later. Rumours spread that the girl he had wed had tricked him by falsely claiming to be pregnant, but no one ever saw the girl again and his prominent family would certainly have wanted to raise their grandchild. Whatever the truth, the Riddle family closed ranks and kept to the mansion on the hill. As their fortunes declined, so did those of the village. Shops closed, the mill moved to a larger town, the children of farmers left to find work elsewhere.

One day, the gardener at the mansion was arrested for the murders of the elder Riddles and their son. Folk at the local pub, the Hanged Man, gossiped for days about the possible motive, but everyone knew what had happened: the Riddles had broken their ancient alliance with the fairies. The luck of Little Hangleton was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Luck of Little Hangleton** – Chapter One by Pipenerd (2006)

Written for the 2006 Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to**: Sabrina Numair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs:** Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

A rude, blaring sound awakened Tom from sleep. The bedroom was dark when he opened his eyes and it took a moment for him to realize the source of the commotion. He jabbed an elbow into the warm body next to him.

"Make it stop," he growled.

There was a series of thumps and bangs and finally the alarm clock was silenced. "It's time to get up," said Harry apologetically.

Tom snapped, "No, it isn't. That infernal device doesn't just make an irritating racket, it also distorts reality. No more Muggle contraptions."

"You didn't like it when I had Dobby wake us up, either," Harry reminded him.

"House-elfs do not belong in our bedroom."

"You're just not a morning person," said Harry with a knowing grin. _Lumos_, he thought, and the bedside lamp began to brightly glow.

"That's right," Tom agreed, blinking in the sudden glare. "Dark magic, Dark wizard, dark deeds done in the dark of night. There's a certain symmetry to it all."

Harry leaned over him. "_Somebody_ just didn't want to go to sleep last night," he teased.

"That's because somebody _else_ was in bed with him," answered Tom with a leer.

"If it's going to be a problem, maybe I should sleep somewhere else," Harry offered with an innocent expression.

Tom reached for Harry and pulled him down. "It's only been three days, Harry," he said in a low, sexy voice. "Are you tired of me so soon?" Before Harry could answer, the light had dimmed and Tom was kissing him

"I thought you were sleepy," Harry interjected.

"We have an appointment to keep," he tried a minute later.

"Oh, Merlin, that's good," he gasped after a time.

Early morning light seeped through the curtains and birdsong drifted on the breeze.

"I think this is a much better way to wake up," said Tom smugly, as they lay comfortably entwined.

"I have to agree," said Harry with a sleepy, satisfied smile. He looked at the gold signet ring gleaming on the fourth finger of his left hand. It was engraved with a chimera and matched the one Tom wore. Just three days ago, on the day of the Summer Solstice and surrounded by their friends, they'd been handfasted by a Druid priestess at the Callanish stones on the Isle of Lewis.

Tom noticed and took Harry's hand, pressing his lips to the ring. "I love you, Harry," he said softly. "I love going to bed with you and I love waking up with you. I never imagined I'd feel this way about anyone."

Harry reached for Tom's hand and kissed his ring, too. "I love you, Tom. For ever and a day. But you know, part of it is the house."

"What do you mean?" Tom asked

"This is the best house in the world. It's magical. It's probably the only place we can ever truly be ourselves."

"I'm glad you like it so much, love. What did you mean earlier when you said we have an appointment? Why would we schedule something during our honeymoon?"

"It's in Little Hangleton with the Building Department," Harry reminded him. "We have to find out whether the changes we want to make to the mansion are allowed and what new buildings we can put up after the cottage and outbuildings have been demolished."

Tom stretched lazily. "Why don't we just go next week?" he suggested.

"Because the entire Village government will be on holiday for the next month and our architect is going to take another project if we don't get her the information soon," said Harry patiently. "I can't wait until your secretary comes back from _his_ honeymoon. You never complain when MacLeod tells you these things. "

"I'm glad you're getting along better with him," said Tom. "The insults were becoming tiresome. 'No-neck Slytherin prat.'"

"I feel a bit sorry for him," Harry admitted. "Spending his honeymoon in Scotland, throwing heavy objects, sweating in a kilt and t-shirt that says 'Pavel Tsatsouline is My Evil Overlord.' Do you realize the Village Hall closes at eleven today and it's going on seven?"

Tom sighed and reluctantly disentangled himself. "All right! I am being responsible and getting out of bed!"

"Besides, it's Midsummer Day," Harry told him. "You told me interesting magical plants grow in the woods round Little Hangleton and this is the best day of the year to harvest them."

"You're right," Tom admitted, pulling on a dressing gown. "They will be especially powerful today. Come to think of it, dew collected on Midsummer morning is supposed to have special properties. Why didn't you make an effort to get us up earlier?"

Grumbling, Harry followed him into the bathroom.

**A/N:** MacLeod is a Scottish heavy athlete – you know, one of those the massively muscular guys who throw tree trunks and boulders. If he were at the Balmoral games with his lovely Ravenclaw bride and won the competition, the Dark Lord's secretary would receive his trophy from the Queen. But since he's a Slytherin, he's probably at an all-wizard competition. Mr. Pipenerd thinks the name 'MacLeod' is too reminiscent of _Highlander_, but I can't help it – that's his name!

Pavel Tsatsouline is a former trainer of the Russian Special Forces who introduced kettlebell training to the Western world.


	3. Chapter 3

The Luck of Little Hangleton – Chapter Two by Pipenerd (2006)

Written for the 2006 Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to:** Sabrina Numair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs**: Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

Geoffrey DeLancey watched from his kitchen window as two young men unloaded building materials from a flatbed truck and stacked them by the barn.

DeLancey was a retired businessman who had come to Little Hangleton to pursue raising show cattle, but the pursuit had grown from a hobby to an obsession. He rented property near the old estate and had managed to raise several prize-winning animals, but his pride and joy was Bellinos. Bellinos was a Grand Champion Highland bull and DeLancey spoiled him with a devotion other people reserved for their children.

DeLancey wasn't the only person who thought Bellinos the epitome of his kind. A few weeks earlier, he'd noticed a pretty young woman leaning over the fence, admiring his Grand Champion. DeLancey had struck up a conversation with her, since she was obviously a bright lass. She told him her name was Oriana and that she had been studying far from home and was visiting her family for the summer. She showed so much interest in Bellinus that DeLancey showed her his other animals. She told him her family raised cattle on a much larger scale and DeLancey was flattered by the praise she lavished on his livestock.

Inspired by her description of the farm where she grew up, DeLancey began to realize the potential in Bellinos of a pedigreed line and a lucrative demand for breeding. He came to the conclusion that he needed to expand his property in order to exploit the future demand.

His solicitor's attempts to contact DeLancey's landlord had failed abysmally. Their queries had gone unanswered. On the other hand, no one seemed to care especially what he did with the land he was already using, so DeLancey had come up with a plan. A few meters behind the property he rented was a gently rising slope with a peculiar stone outcrop. With some heavy equipment, the ground could be smoothed to provide room for a sizeable new barn with plenty of room for Bellinus, his heifers and their offspring.

DeLancey's eyes sparkled with joy at the sight of the brand-new backhoe on his tractor.


	4. Chapter 4

The Luck of Little Hangleton by Pipenerd (2006)

Written for the 2006 Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to**: Sabrina Numair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs:** Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

Little Hangleton's main street was lined with parked vehicles and the Village Hall was very busy. Tom and Harry stood in the crowded foyer and tried to decipher the directory posted on the wall.

"Building Department, second floor," read Tom finally and steered Harry toward the stairs.

On the second floor, they found the door to the Building Department propped open with a cement block. Inside, a woman in her fifties, wearing a pink suit, was discussing something with a middle-aged man dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. They both looked up when Tom and Harry entered the tiny office.

The woman regarded them for a moment, and then exclaimed, "Mr. Riddle! I recognized you at once! I knew your family." She beamed at them and extended her hand. "I'm Daphne York, Mayor of Little Hangleton. Call me Daphne. I'm delighted to meet you at last!"

Tom used his most charming smile, the one he reserved for members of the Ministry of Magic, Hogwarts professors and Harry's friends. "I'm Tom," he said, shaking her hand. "This is Harry Potter," he said, making room for Harry to stand next to him. "We share ownership of the estate."

"We're so excited you're going to be renovating the mansion," Daphne enthused. "It's always been such a community icon. This is our Building Inspector, John Coats."

Coats smiled and shook their hands. "Please, sit down. Daphne and I will try to answer all your questions."

Tom and Harry presented their concerns and listened while Coats explained their options. Daphne reassured them that the Village master plan permitted the changes they had in mind and Coats gave them his business card to pass on to their architect.

When they'd finished, Daphne went to the stairs with them. "I know you didn't grow up in Little Hangleton, Tom, but your family name has always been held in high regard here." _One of them, anyway,_ Harry heard Tom amend. "The fortunes of the town have always been linked to those of the Riddles and we all hope this is the beginning of a fresh start for the village."

"Daphne," said Tom, "we are going to be spending a great deal of money to renovate the estate. I hardly need emphasize the potential benefits to the village of a small school and conference centre. If Little Hangleton is not capable of providing the ambience and privacy we require, we will look elsewhere. It is up to you, Madam Mayor, to assure our experience is mutually beneficial."

Daphne was about to respond when John Coats emerged from his office. "Tom, if I might have a word with you?"

"Certainly," said Tom. "Please excuse me," he said to Harry and Daphne.

"It's about Geoff DeLancey, your tenant, sir," Coats began.

Tom looked thoughtful, and then shook his head. "I don't know who you mean."

Coats was impressed. He was aware of the amount DeLancey paid for his land each month and realized that if Riddle couldn't associate a particular name with that amount of monthly income, the sum was probably insignificant to him. "He rents the west end of your estate. He's applied for a permit to build a new barn, but although he produced a document giving your permission to put up an outbuilding, I had to turn him down. It was too close to the property line and besides it was technically on a part of your property that he's not renting. If you have time today, perhaps we could go over and see him together. You could either give him a firm answer, or put him in contact with your solicitors, and I could sleep soundly at night."

"I certainly didn't give permission for him to build anything," said Tom with a frown. "We're going to need that portion of the property once work begins."

Coats checked his watch. "There's still time before the festivities start. I'll get my truck and meet you outside."

As Tom was talking with Coats, Daphne turned to Harry. "I noticed your rings," she said with a smile. "Are you two a couple?"

"Yes," said Harry, with just a trace of embarrassment. "We're as married as we legally can be right now."

"You do make a handsome pair," she said. "Being a woman in small-town politics, I've had to keep many of my personal views to myself in order to appeal to conservative voters. I'm one of those people they call 'straight but not narrow'. After this term, I'm standing for Parliament, and believe it or not, my constituents in Greater Hangleton are positively cosmopolitan in diversity compared to this place! I hope they'll elect me to the Commons." She leaned conspiratorially closer to Harry. "I'll tell you a secret, Harry: marriage is good for the economy. When I get to Parliament, I'll put in a good word for you."

Tom came back to them just then. "Harry, John Coats mentioned a potential problem and has offered to take me out to the estate. Care to come along?"

Before Harry could answer, the entire building shuddered.

Daphne looked at them in alarm. "According to the disaster plan, everyone needs to leave the building until we can determine what's happened," she said, starting for the stairs. "That sounded like an explosion." She pulled her cell phone from a pocket and began to look for a number.

When they got outside, Coats was waiting in his pickup, leaning out the window. "I just heard on the scanner that there's been an accident out at DeLancey's. He's the tenant on the west side of the Riddle estate, Daphne. Sounds like he was digging with his tractor and hit a natural gas deposit. Tom and I were going out there anyway. I'll call and let you know what's going on when we get there."

Tom turned to Harry. "On second thoughts, Harry, why don't you stay here in the village? We shouldn't be long."

"I don't like splitting up," said Harry quietly.

"I'm uneasy about the situation myself," Tom told him. He pulled a watch from his pocket and gave it to Harry. "I want you to take this."

"What is it?" asked Harry. He wasn't sure whether he was more repelled by the thick patina of age or the aura of Dark magic surrounding it. He'd seen enough similar objects at Number 12 Grimmauld Place to last a lifetime.

"Heirloom," Tom said briefly. "It belonged to my grandfather."

Harry recalled all too well the outcome of Tom's last visit with his paternal grandparents and the last living member of his mother's family. He opened the watch and saw the inside of the case was intricately engraved. A scrollwork banner along the top read "Memento Mori." Beneath was a cross and among the rocks at its base was a skull with a serpent emerging from its mouth. "Thanks," he said, holding the watch distastefully. "This is the most one of the most _charming _things you've ever given me."

Tom laughed. "Just keep it with you, love," he said. He kissed Harry quickly and climbed in the truck.

Daphne finished her phone call. "Don't worry, Harry. The fire chief is on his way to DeLancey's. He'll make sure the area is safe."

"I hope so," said Harry. He closed the watch and reluctantly put it into his jacket.

Daphne checked her own watch. "The parade's about to begin, Harry. Why don't you come along with me? Goodness knows if things go well, you and Tom will probably be made Parade Marshals next year!"

Harry smiled without enthusiasm.

**A/N:** Mr. Pipenerd suspects Daphne York is based on Harriet Jones from the Doctor Who episodes 'Aliens of London' and 'World War Three', but I just wanted to establish her as a good role model for a character yet to be introduced.


	5. Chapter 5

The Luck of Little Hangleton by Pipenerd (2006)

Written for the 2006 Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to**: Sabrina Numair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs:** Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

The conflict that had been termed the Second War had fizzled to an end when an insect-borne encephalitis turned deadly among the Wizarding population. With fatalities reaching forty percent and the survivors stripped of the ability to use magic, the Ministry offered a blanket pardon to all Dark wizards who joined the effort to eradicate the disease. Enmity that had spanned two generations eased as Malfoys and LeStranges worked alongside Weasleys and Longbottoms at Hogwarts. When Horace Slughorn arrived with a youthful, regenerated Lord Voldemort, Albus Dumbledore gravely welcomed them. Harry Potter sought out his old adversary and, like many others, they privately repudiated their personal quarrel.

Professor Slughorn and Hermione Granger, building on the research of their colleagues, made the breakthrough in the search for a vaccine. After joining the celebration that night, over several bottles of mead, Voldemort and Potter reached the same decision separately. Late that night, they met unexpectedly outside the Potions classrooms that were doubling as research labs.

"Get out of it, Potter," Voldemort sneered. "I'm the only person in the castle who can survive if the vaccine doesn't work."

"I'm not going to trust this to a Dark wizard," Harry insisted.

They looked at each other warily.

Harry finally said, "I brought a bottle of 12 year-old Scotch."

"Oh," said Voldemort. "Blend or single malt?"

They locked themselves in, administered the vaccine and settled down to wait. Voldemort showed Harry how to Transfigure lab beakers into Irish crystal and they opened the liquor.

"Your health," said Voldemort, raising his glass with an ironic smile.

"Yours," Harry replied. "You look much better than the last time I saw you."

"That's what happens when a Horcrux works properly. Surely you've heard the stories about Merlin growing younger rather than older?"

"So you _died_ since that night at the Ministry?" Harry couldn't resist adding, "Reflexes slow down a bit?"

"I wasn't in a duel," Voldemort said dismissively. "It was the botched regeneration. I knew from the start that the body Wormtail conjured was of a temporary nature. When that body finally failed, a Horcrux was activated. Since I made that particular one when I was in my twenties, that was the body that was restored to me."

"Umm, what should I call you?" Harry asked. "You can't expect me to use Voldemort and 'Lord' is right out."

"Oh, Tom I suppose," he said. ""We know each other far too well to be formal. After all, we've shared dreams, feelings…" His eyes glinted and Harry felt uncomfortable. A magical bond had been established between them when Voldemort had tried to kill Harry as an infant and the curse rebounded. Each of them was aware when the other felt strong emotions and, when they were asleep or in a near-sleeping state, they had access to each other's thoughts. It was an occasionally useful and sometimes disturbing state of affairs but all either of them could do was block it with Occlumency when it became too dangerous.

"So, Tom," Harry asked hurriedly, "is there a Lady Voldemort waiting for you back at the castle?"

Tom shook his head. "No."

"Ever?" asked Harry, incredulous.

"I've been too busy being a rebel," he explained with a derisive laugh.

Harry knew that particular phrase was a polite Wizarding euphemism for being gay and it suddenly cast Tom in an entirely different light. "That's interesting," said Harry slowly.

"Why 'interesting'?"

"It's just…" Harry summoned his Gryffindor courage. "For the longest time I had a crush on a boy I met in an old magical diary."

A brief, speculative look crossed Tom's face, then he finished his drink and changed the subject. Harry thought that was interesting, too.

When they emerged two days later, they were in good health and good spirits. If they hadn't become friends, at least they had begun to understand each other. A few days later, Hogwarts threw the biggest party in its thousand-year history and they parted ways.

**A/N:** In Gaelic, whiskey is "uisge beatha", literally "the water of life." Obviously Lord Voldemort's preferred beverage! As I'm trying to become educated in Scotch whiskies, I'll be happy to discuss the matter of single malts and blends with anyone interested!

RE: The polite wizarding euphemism. JKR stated in the 2004 Edinburgh interview, "Sirius was too busy being a rebel to have time for a girlfriend." Seems to me like an elegant way to say someone is gay.


	6. Chapter 6

The Luck of Little Hangleton by Pipenerd (2006)

Written to grant Mai's wish in the Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to**: Sabrina Numair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs:** Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Genres:** AU, Romance, Action/Adventure.

**Warnings:** Slash, OCs, alcohol, people eaten by monsters off-screen, an animal killed by a monster on-screen.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

Ahern and Caedmon looked out over the fields where they had played as children. They were each armed with a boar spear and leaf-shaped swords hung at their belts. They were riding magnificent horses shod with silver. A group of the sons of lesser nobles and knights rode behind them, followed by retainers. It was a sun-drenched summer's day, and they were hunting a monster.

"What is it supposed to be this time?" Caedmon asked. He was strongly built, with sharp features and long dark hair clasped at the back of his neck. Caedmon was the son of Lochlann, one of the northern kings, and was visiting his oldest and best friend.

Ahern squinted out across the waving grasses. "A manticore," he answered. "At least that's what the girls described: reddish lion's body, human head with lots of teeth, scorpion's tale, and a penchant for devouring people."

"I didn't realize there _were_ any in this part of the world," Caedmon said. "Do you reckon your sisters are having one over on us?"

"Probably," Ahern said. "Nice day for it, though."

Ahern was tall and deceptively slender with piercing blue eyes and long red hair held back with a gold circlet. He was the son and heir of the chieftain of Elmet and might have grown up with all the arrogance that being the son of a border lord entailed. However, Ahern was also the youngestof his parent's seven children. His six sisters had monopolized the attention of their parents with their sweet faces and musical voices and the endless dramas of which one had the prettiest frock or best marriage prospects. Ahern had learned as a small child that he was no competition for them in the battle for Mum and Dad's attention and was only too grateful when he was old enough to begin learning the skills of a warrior with the other boys.

The Border was a magical barrier, strung from ward to ward across the countryside, dividing the lands of the _Sidhe_ from the lands of the Britons. It was heavily guarded on the _Sidhe_ side, in accordance with an ancient treaty, and the fortress of Elmet kept watch over one of the wards. Britons occasionally wandered across the ethereal, iridescent barrier, and had to be repatriated - with or without memory of their experiences obliterated. More often, _Sidhe _slipped over to the other side, usually intent on kidnapping a child or selling illegal charms or just hiding from the King's justice. It was a good training ground for young warriors and Caedmon's father had sent him to learn about weapons, raids and enforcing the peace. Caedmon and Ahern quickly become friends. The girls might dominate life in the fortress, but the boys were in their own element when they were living outdoors and riding patrols.

"How are things progressing between you and Nerissa?" Ahern asked. One of the reasons his friend had come to visit was to finalize his engagement to one of Ahern's sisters.

Caedmon laughed. "She'd love to be Queen of Lochlann, if it didn't mean having to leave her parents and settling down to be a good wife."

"Your gifts went over well," Ahern pointed out. "And Mum and Dad really like you."

"That's not the problem," Caedmon said. "It's not just Nerissa – I have to win over the other five as well. I know what they're telling her: 'Marrying Caedmon is just like marrying our brother.' 'Who wants to be shut up in a cold castle in the frozen North?' 'You have your choice of any man in the kingdom.' I know that's why she still hasn't given me an answer."

"You know how high-spirited they are," Ahern reminded him.

"Difficult, you mean."

"They've been spoiled all their lives, so naturally they'd prefer to stay at home. But they have plenty of suitors and I certainly don't want to have to take care of them the rest of their lives! Let me tell you something: since Oriana returned home from Court, she's been telling them about all the things they're missing. I think you're going to find Nerissa is more receptive to your offer than you think. Look, its Midsummer's Day. Some of her friends are being married today. That should inspire her. When we get back, do the manful thing and ask her outright. You'll never have a better opportunity."

Caedmon took heart from his friend's words. "You're right," he said. "I'll speak to her today."

That was when the dogs began to growl.

"Guess there really is something out here," Ahern said quietly. He had just turned to brief the others when the ground began to shake. The horses became skittish, the dogs began to bark and everyone's attention turned to trying to keep their seat and keeping the dogs from being trampled in the confusion.

"Mother Danu! What just happened?" Caedmon exclaimed then they'd finally gotten the animals calmed down again.

They looked about uneasily. The iridescent sheen that defined the border was gone. Before them, unfamiliar fields and rich pastures dotted with houses and barns stretched as far as they could see. In the distance behind them, the fortress of Elmet was still clearly visible on the hill.

"The border wards are down," Ahern realized.

"Wouldn't that only happen if we're at war?" Caedmon wondered.

There were murmurs from the other young men. All of them were eager for the opportunity to prove their worth and win glory in combat.

"All right," Ahern said, asserting command. "Nothing like this has happened in centuries and we're in a good position to scout out the opposition and bring back valuable information. I need someone to volunteer to go back and tell my father what has happened."

At first, no one spoke because they all wanted to go with him into the lands of the Britons. Finally, "I'll go, lord," said Peredur, the son of one of the barons, reluctantly. "My horse will never be able to keep up."

"Thanks," said Ahern with relief. "I'll make sure you receive recognition for your initiative. Take the dogs and servants. We're going to ride light, so we'll send back the extra weapons with you, too. Let my Father know our plans. If we can't make it back by nightfall, we'll send another messenger."

"Perhaps we should send a prize back to your father," Caedmon suggested, his eyes falling on a handsome bull grazing in a field nearby. Peredur brightened noticeably at the prospect.

Everyone checked their gear and the party divided.

"This is great!" Caedmon said to Ahern with a grin.

"Yes," Ahern agreed. "You get a chance to win glory _and_ have more time to decide how to propose to my sister."


	7. Chapter 7

The Luck of Little Hangleton by Pipenerd (2006)

Written for the 2006 Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to**: Sabrina Numair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs:** Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

Cassidy York was driving back home from school. A History student at University, he'd accepted a teaching fellowship for the summer and was glad to have a break to visit his mother for a few days. The Midsummer Festival was on and he looked forward to seeing all his friends at the Hanged Man.

As he drove past the old Riddle mansion, he noticed a young girl walking alongside the road. She was wearing an outfit made up of what seemed to be several skirts of different colours and lengths layered over each other and a white gathered blouse. She wore a great deal of gold jewellery, earrings and necklaces and bracelets. He assumed she was headed into town for the parade.

Impulsively, Cassidy slowed the car and lowered his window. She looked at him with suspicion as he pulled alongside. "Hi," he said with a friendly smile. "I'm the Mayor's son. Can I give you a lift into town?"

She considered his offer for so long, he was about to repeat himself when she asked, "The Mayor?"

"That's right," said Cassidy. "My mother is Daphne York. She's in charge of the village. I'm Cassidy."

"You may take me to the village, Cassidy," she said with a regal smile. She walked gracefully around the car and got in, gently pulling the door shut. "I am Oriana," she said. She had long red hair and her skin was pale and clear.

"I'm happy to meet you," he said, admiring her smile. "I think we might still be in time for the parade. Do you live around here? Have you been to the Midsummer festival before?"

"I'm visiting my father," she said. "His lands are over there." She waved her hand vaguely. "I have not been to your festival. Will there be games and horse races?"

"Well, after the parade, the Oak King and Holly King will fight in the village square."

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I would like to see the kings in combat!"

"There's an arts and crafts show and rides and food, of course. Tonight, there will be a play." Cassidy looked at her closely and tried to guess her age. "If you're old enough, I'll buy you a pint after the parade," he offered. "The local pub brews some wicked ale."

"Old enough?" asked Oriana. "I've been drinking ale forever! Has your mother always been the head of your village?"

"Just for the past few years," answered Cassidy. "Politics sort of became her hobby after my father died."

"I am sorry your father is dead," she said. "Was he a brave and good man?"

"I think he was," Cassidy said, thinking it was a kind way for a stranger to ask about an awkward subject. "You said you're visiting. Do you live very far away?"

"I'm living in the capital, where I'm studying politics." said Oriana pensively. "My father is a wealthy man and hopes I will marry the son of his old friends. But I want be more than an ornament to a rich man's estate. I want to learn to govern, like your mother."

"She'd be glad to talk to you about that," Cassidy offered. "She's the most outspoken feminist I've ever known."

"She must be a fine woman to have a son so kind," she said, smiling once more.

Cassidy was embarrassed at her compliment. "So, what does your mother think about all this?" he asked to change the subject.

"She said she'll support me in whatever I decide to do," Oriana said. "But she also told me I should at least meet the man my father has picked for me. She says love is sometimes found in unexpected places."

Cassidy glanced at her briefly. The breeze was stirring her hair and she looked wild and beautiful. "Yeah," he said. "Sometimes it is." He shifted gears as they entered the village limits.

**A/N:** I'm becoming educated about beer, too, and will happily take up that subject as well with anyone who cares to comment about it.


	8. Chapter 8

The Luck of Little Hangleton by Pipenerd (2006)

Written for the 2006 Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to**: Sabrina Numair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs:** Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

The scanner in the pickup was as irritating to Tom as the alarm clock had been earlier and John Coats' attempt to talk above the noise along with the jolting of the truck along rutted dirt roads was making him seriously annoyed. When they finally arrived at what was, after all, _his_ property, Tom hurriedly got out of the truck and looked around. An automobile with a flashing light on top sat unattended in the driveway.

Coats was clearly uncomfortable. "It's really quiet out here," he commented.

Tom didn't reply. The air was redolent with the smell of manure but there didn't seem to be any large animals in the barn or out in the field. No birds sang. Coats led him past the barn and they saw a tractor on the hill alongside a rather large hole in the hillside itself.

"DeLancey and the chief must've gone into the house," Coats said. "I'll go check. You should probably stay away from that hill until somebody has a chance to make sure it's safe." He went round the side of the barn toward the house.

As soon as Coats was out of sight, Tom strode directly up the path made by the tractor tires to where DeLancey had destroyed what had once obviously been, to an experienced wizard, a magical ward. Since his Wizarding heritage had supposedly come entirely from the Gaunt side of the family, he was very interested to discover who had placed such a thing on the Riddle estate and curious about what it had been set to guard.

As he approached, he noticed the destruction of the ward had caused considerable damage to the tractor. There were traces of blood as well and he wondered whether DeLancey had been able to wander away on his own.

His attention was drawn to the top of the hill, which was capped with a grey stone fort of obvious antiquity. He was certain he would have recalled seeing something that impressive behind the Riddle mansion on his previous visits. Two men on horseback were riding down a narrow path toward him. When they drew near, a tall man with long red hair and a startlingly long moustache dismounted and regarded him. He wore a belted tunic, an ornate gold torc and a plaid cloak secured with a pennanular brooch. A leaf-shaped sword hung at his waist. Just looking at him was giving Tom a headache because he seemed to exist in two worlds at once. His whole being shouted his supernatural origins. "Descendant of noble Sir Guilliame Ryedel!" he said. "I bid you welcome!"

"I am Lord Voldemort," said Tom, eyeing the man coldly. He drew his wand, because most people tended to find it intimidating, and pointed it in a purposeful manner. "You are trespassing on my property and I demand an explanation."

"I am Arthuis, son of Masgwid, chieftain of the Elmetsae _Sidhe_," said the man, regarding the wand with the respect due a wizard.

Tom lowered his wand with a frown and tried to recall the procedure for evicting the larger species of fairies.

**A/N:** Arthuis son of Masgwid was a genuine Iron Age historic personage. And yes, that was an intentional reference to "La Belle Dame Sans Merci."


	9. Chapter 9

The Luck of Little Hangleton – by Pipenerd (2006)

Written for the 2006 Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to**: Sabrina Nubair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs:** Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

Harry was uncomfortable: he'd never been in a restaurant so elegant before. The man who greeted him at the tiny desk inside the foyer immediately took him to their table with an air of self-importance. Harry checked his reflection as he passed a window. Even though he was wearing a suit and tie, he felt out of place. The décor was understated, the tables were swathed in linen and set with silver, china and crystal and, unlike the places he usually went with his friends, it was very quiet.

Tom was already at the table and discussing the wine list with a server. "Hello, Harry," he said, looking up with a smile. Harry sat down and was dumbfounded by the assortment of flatware set at his place like an array of surgeon's instruments. Tom offered subtle assistance in ordering lunch, since Harry was so obviously intimidated by the French menu. The food was simple and delicious. Harry had such a feeling of accomplishment that he decided to introduce Hermione and Ron to French cuisine in the near future.

"As pleasant as this has been, I believe you must have had a reason to ask me to meet you," Tom said after ordering dessert.

"Well, yes," Harry admitted. "The British government is investigating some members of Parliament who have ties with a fascist group in South America. The Ministry of Magic has been asked to assist because they're using magic to help achieve their goals."

"So the Ministry is concerned about Muggles using magic," Tom mused as he finished his wine. "Are they also worried dogs and cats are going to master the stock market?"

"No, really," Harry said earnestly. "Grindlewald had diplomatic links to the Nazis. Some of them were studying magic and esoteric philosophy. A bunch of those guys want to South America after the war ended."

"I suspect Grindlewald was even less impressed than I am."

Harry was becoming annoyed. "Look, I infiltrated this group and I've been to some of their meetings. They're doing ceremonial magic. Do you know anything about that?"

"I'm familiar with the principles," Tom said, frowning. "I'm not certain it actually works."

Harry said quietly, "They know about you."

"He Who Must Not Be Named? The Dark Lord?"

Harry shook his head. "They specifically mentioned a wizard called Lord Voldemort." He hesitated. "You're not working with them, are you?"

Tom's eyes flashed. "Do you really think-?"

"Sorry," Harry said hurriedly. "I had to ask. They're very keen to meet you."

"Then they clearly know very little about me."

Their dessert arrived just then with the coffee.

"Thank you for the warning," Tom told him when they'd finished the chocolate mousse.

"You're welcome," Harry replied. "I'll get the bill."

"I've already handled that," Tom said dismissively. "You can get it next time."

A man named Mathers was the leader of the group known as the Hermetic Order of the Elder Star and, after Harry's initiation, he had accepted him as his protégé. Mathers was unusually high-spirited when Harry arrived at his house that evening. "This will be our most ambitious undertaking yet," he promised.

As he dressed in the silly pseudo-Egyptian robes, Harry made sure his mind was Occluded. Some of the members of the group claimed to be psychic and would doubtless be fascinated to learn the things Harry knew about magic. The ceremonial chamber was a large room with heavily curtained windows. Incense was already smouldering in censors and the room was illuminated by candles suspended from the high ceiling and placed about on pillars. Mathers asked Harry to assist as he inscribed symbols around the edge of a circle set into the design of the tiled floor and, after double-checking the inscription, he used the tip of an ornate sword to trace the outline of the circle in a clockwise fashion. Then he sent Harry to wait outside with the other initiates while he finished preparations for the ritual.

Harry had found the group of magicians to be intelligent, if a bit odd. Three or four of them were near his age, but most were in their thirties of forties. Not quite half were women, though they made up the majority of the Adepts, those of highest rank in the Order. Magic was a serious undertaking for the members, and they greeted him solemnly. When a bell chimed in the chamber, the doors swung open and the magicians filed inside.

They assembled a good meter outside the perimeter of the circle and Harry, as the newest initiate, ended up next to Mathers. The ritual began as usual, with standardized declarations and responses. Next, two members were elevated in rank. Then the chanting began, to raise psychic energy and focus it on the 'supreme purpose' of the group. Harry usually found it pretty boring. Tonight, though, the atmosphere seemed charged with excitement. Mathers and the Adepts kept exchanging significant glances and the rest of the magicians were alive with anticipation. Harry was wary; the Occlumency had shut his mind down so thoroughly that he couldn't tell whether anything of a magical nature was happening on a subtle level or not.

And then an oily mist appeared inside the circle and an indistinct object was forming. Harry's voice faltered in the chant and his eyes grew wide as the haze began to clear and the shape solidified into human form. It was Tom, and he didn't look very damn happy.

Tom was wearing a black shirt and tightly-fitting black trousers. In spite of his handsome appearance, there was a palpable aura of power and menace about him. His dark eyes flashed crimson they swept over Mathers and the circle of magicians. Harry saw the recognition in his eyes, but Tom didn't permit his gaze to linger on him and continued to appraise the faces around the room.

Harry realized he alone stood between the magicians and the anger of Lord Voldemort. He forced himself to think calmly; after all, facing down Dark wizards was supposed to be the sort of thing he did best.

"Lord Voldemort, we greet thee," Mathers' voice rang out across the room. "We are the Mages of the Elder Star and we have summoned you, seeking your wisdom and assistance."

Disdainfully, Tom asked, "And how do you propose to compel me to do your bidding?"

Apparently it hadn't occurred to the magicians that Lord Voldemort might prove unsympathetic and uncooperative. Mathers and the Adepts were at a loss. In the meantime, Tom stretched out an arm and found he was unable to cross the barrier of the circle. He glanced toward Harry, who made a decision. "_Petrificus Totallus,_" Harry thought. Mathers stiffened and pitched over on his face, immobile. The women at his side immediately dropped to their knees, turning fearful glances toward the wizard in the circle as they monitored their leader's vital signs. Some of the others began to move slowly toward the closed doors. Harry used a silent _Colloportus _ to lock the doors and, as an afterthought, the windows as well.

One of the Adepts stepped forward and bowed to Tom. "Please forgive us, Lord," she said. We are all your humble servants. Command us and we will do your will."

His smile radiated evil charm. "And I may permit _you_ to serve me – later." The woman blanched. Tom gestured to the magicians who were struggling to open the locked doors and Harry obliged with a Babbling Curse. The chaos was immediate.

Suppressing a laugh, he turned and pointed to Harry. "You."

"Me, sir?" Harry had no problem sounding worried.

"Yes, you. Do you know how to open this circle?"

"Yes, my lord," Harry answered.

"Then do so," Tom snapped.

Harry walked over and picked up the ritual sword.

"No, don't –, "one of the magicians protested.

"_You_ tell him 'no'," Harry said, annoyed. He touched the point of the blade to the circle and dragged it round counter clockwise. As he did so, green flames sprang up along the portion he'd passed. _Show off,_ he thought. When he had finished, he knelt and rubbed at a part of the inscription to erase it.

As Tom stepped from the circle, the candles flared like torches. A moment later the heavy drapes caught and were engulfed in emerald-coloured flames. The effect was as calculated and dramatic as a rock star's entrance. Harry knew that Tom had always been expert at impressing people, but this was sheer improvisation and it was masterful.

Tom extended a hand to Harry in a gesture that both acknowledged his assistance and beckoned him to participate in the retribution to come. Harry felt the allure of joining him, turning on the pretentious and preposterous Muggles playing at magic, providing them with a brief, terrifying glimpse of the Dark Arts before they died. Something unexpectedly wild and Dark inside him responded, urging him to accept and he felt as there was but one way to respond. He reached out and took Tom's hand.

Rising to stand before him, Harry met his eyes and saw a brief flash of triumph. He immediately felt the anticipated pressure of Tom's mind attempting to touch his, and all at once he dropped the shield that had Occluded this thoughts. Harry's disorganized stream of consciousness tumbled into Tom's analytical mind. The resulting distraction was everything Harry had hoped as the momentum of Tom's intended attack on the magicians was stifled beneath the sudden barrage of Quidditch standings and the latest gags offered by Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Tom frowned, disconcerted and trying to make sense of the mental confusion. A moment passed in which Harry Extinguished the draperies. Another moment, and he removed the Babbling curse.

By that time, Tom had regained his composure, though it was apparent to Harry that anger was simmering just below the surface. "How is it you weren't Sorted into Slytherin?" he asked in a carefully controlled voice.

"Like my godfather, I had some bad experiences with Dark wizards," Harry rejoined.

"These Muggles," Tom said, gesturing contemptuously, "pose a hazard to my reputation and my personal safety."

"I understand that," Harry answered levelly, "but I would take it as a personal favour if you didn't kill or Obliviate anyone. The Ministry sent me here to gather information and I'd like to try salvage the mission."

Tom scowled. "Have it your way, then. Stun the rest of them. I'll revive the magus and do a spot of Legilmency to find what you need to know. Then you can notify the Ministry and let them finish up here while we go to dinner."

"You want to go out with me?" Harry asked, confused.

"That _was_ one of the notions I was able to untangle when you gifted me with the entire contents of your mind a short time ago. Is the offer still open?"

"You _can't_ be hungry already," Harry exclaimed, a bit dazed Tom had accepted.

The female Adept had been following this exchange and now spoke up. "Do you two _know_ each other?"

Without a second thought, Harry Stupified her.

"You know, you could become quite a powerful Dark wizard," Tom observed as Harry Stunned the rest of the magicians. He prodded the unconscious Mathers with a toe. "I hope your friend here is forthcoming. Perhaps we'll even have time to get a table at that Italian restaurant on Charlotte Street and you can tell me all about your godfather."

**A/N**: The magician Mathers is loosely based on MacGregor Mathers, one of the founders of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.

Extra points for using one of S.S. Sssssss' Reasons to Ship Harry/Tom. ("You tell him 'no'!")


	10. Chapter 10

The Luck of Little Hangleton by Pipenerd (2006)

Written for the 2006 Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to**: Sabrina Numair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs:** Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

Harry sat in the review stand in the village square next to Daphne. So far, he'd met the Treasurer, the Police Chief, the Village Secretary, the President of the Village Merchant Association, the Director of the Village Players and the Chairman of the local Agricultural Society. If all the business owners who had given him their cards actually bought him a pint as promised after the parade, he wouldn't be able to walk for a week.

Tom and John Coats had been gone for nearly two hours. Harry was trying hard not to worry. His mind had been linked to Tom's for so long, he'd grown used to sharing his feelings and thoughts. For at least the past hour, that reassuring presence had been completely absent. He imagined a crazy farmer with a double-barrelled shotgun ordering them off his property. He imagined a smoking crater filled with swirling clouds of poisonous gas. He imagined police at a road blockade demanding identification from an irate Dark wizard. Harry was not enjoying himself.

The stream of costumed school children, dancers, brass bands and uniformed veterans seemed to have trickled to an end. The crowd was waiting with suppressed excitement. Harry could hear men shouting in the distance. As the sounds louder, a cluster of men dressed as medieval warriors appeared at each end of the street. The gathered crowd broke into cheers as the two groups approached the square.

Marching from the east end of the street, the warriors wore red and gold surcoats with a golden lion emblazoned in the centre. They accompanied a helmeted King crowned with a wreath of green oak leaves. The warriors who marched from the west were dressed in silver and green livery. A silver knotwork serpent was their crest and their King was crowned with a wreath of evergreen holly.

"Why are they dressed like that?" Harry asked Daphne, his heart pounding as if on the brink of a revelation. He had to shout to make himself heard over all the noise.

"It's a tradition that goes back to the Middle Ages," she answered. "They're going to fight to see which will rule the next half of the year. You should talk to my son. Cassidy is reading history at University. He can tell you all about it."

As she spoke, the warriors fanned out behind the Kings, who, Harry noticed, were armed with staves. The Kings turned to the review stand and bowed, then turned to each other and bowed again. A roar came from the crowd as the two Kings faced each other and the Oak King lunged with the point of his quarterstaff. The Holly King blocked and reached over his opponent's guard, landing a blow on his shoulder. The Oak King attempted a low, sweeping attack that was easily blocked. They advanced and retreated across the square, staves clattering as they hit. The shouts of the warriors and the encouragement from the crowd were deafening.

"Is the winner predetermined?" Daphne looked at him, pointed to her ear and shook her head, laughing. Harry leaned closer and repeated the question so she could hear.

"The Holly King is supposed to win at Midsummer and the Oak King at Yule," she explained. "The fight is scripted, but sometimes the men get high-spirited. Anything can happen!"

There was a groan from the spectators as the Holly King fell. But the Oak King was clumsy in pressing his advantage and the Holly King jabbed him in the ribs with his staff. Rising quickly to his feet, the Holly King struck his struggling adversary about the shoulders. There was a ringing blow to the Oak King's helmet and he sprawled to the ground.

The crowd went wild as the Holly King helped the Oak King to his feet and embraced him like a brother. Harry joined in the wild applause as their warriors hoisted the Kings on their shoulders and carried them around the village square.

"What happens now?" he asked Daphne over the cheers.

"Now," said Daphne, joining in the enthusiastic applause, "the victor will be rewarded!" She and Harry rose with the other village notables and began to descend to the square.

There was a disturbance from the east end of the street and a murmur ran through the crowd. Suddenly, a group of men on horseback appeared, riding toward them.

"Who are these guys?" Harry asked with interest.

Daphne shook her head and frowned. "Harry, I have no idea."

**A/N:** Since everyone knows where "like a brother" comes from, I don't see a real need to cite the book and page.


	11. Chapter 11

The Luck of Little Hangleton by Pipenerd (2006)

Written for the 2006 Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to**: Sabrina Numair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs:** Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

Arthuis brought Tom to his audience chamber and called for cakes and fruit and chilled wine to be brought forth. He introduced him to members of his court as an honoured guest and, as a veteran of many such functions, Tom fell into his role and helped him work the floor. After a short time, the chieftain excused himself to receive a messenger and to allow his subjects time alone with the novelty of a human visitor.

One of the warriors approached, the one Tom had seen with the chieftain when they first met. From his rich attire and ornate jewellery, Tom guessed he must be of very high rank. Unlike anyone else present, his hair was iron gray and there were faint lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

"Are you truly a descendant of Sir Guilliame de Ryedel?" he asked courteously. Tom nodded. "Then we are kinsman," the older man said. "I am Sir Guilliame's son, Simon."

Tom didn't surprise easily, but this revelation took him off guard. "How did you come to be here?" he asked, looking at the man closely. He wasn't certain how he felt about meeting a Riddle relation, especially one that was something like 800 years old.

"When my sons were grown, my lady wife grew sad with longing for her family," Simon told him. "She spoke so beguilingly of the delights she had known in the courts of the _Sidhe _that I, too, grew desirous to visit her father's realm. By that time, my eldest son had taken a fairy bride and understood when I took him aside and gave him his inheritance. I was welcomed as a hero by the _Sidhe_, for they often desire the aid of powerful mortals in their wars, and through many centuries I have won treasure and renown for my prowess in their battles and disputes."

Simon leaned near and said earnestly, "You are in peril of your immortal soul in this place. Do not touch the food or drink and no matter how sweetly you may be entreated, do not bestow your kisses upon anyone. Should you do these things, you will join me in becoming like them: immortal and severed from the grace of Our Lord."

"Immortality," Tom said with conviction, "is a gift. Centuries to pursue goals uninterrupted by sickness or infirmity. Lifetimes to spend in the company of the one you love. Opportunities to perfect the skills mortals can never accomplish in the short time they are allotted."

"They say you are a wizard," Simon said after a moment. "My sister, Eleanor, was given in marriage to Wolfram Gryffindor, brother of my liege lord. I see from your face you know of him. He, too, was a wizard and lived a very long time. Yet even he was not immortal. Immortality is a curse, young Ryedel, as I have learned." He noticed Tom's gaze focus beyond him and saw his chieftain returning. "We will speak again later," he said, and withdrew with a bow.

Servants offered enticing trays of food that smelled wonderful and Tom was reminded it must be past lunchtime but heeded Simon's warning and refused with a smile. The chieftain's harper appeared and began to sing a ballad, which Tom recognized as a version of the story of Tristan and Iseult. He absently turned the gold ring on his finger and wondered when it would begin to feel as comfortable as his relationship with Harry had become. Their story was nearly as convoluted as the ballad, Tom thought, but at least they'd avoided the complications of the love potion.

As soon as he had entered the fortof the _Sidhe, _Tom had felt disconnected from the comforting presence of Harry's mind. They had become used to the pleasant hum of the other person's thoughts and he knew Harry would be worried at the obstruction of their psychic bond. Well, perhaps this would serve as a useful lesson. Harry had little reason to be concerned about him. Tom was secure in the knowledge that he could take care of himself and had guarded his life with a series of Horcruxes. Harry, on the other hand, tended to act rashly and gave little heed to magical protection, resisting Tom's offers to make a Horcrux for him. Tom smiled to himself. Harry might have suspected what the watch was, but he'd accepted it, albeit grudgingly, and it would keep it near.

The harper was bringing his song to a close. Tom looked up from the gleaming gold ring and met the gaze of his host.

"Our families were allied through marriage for many generations," the chieftain said. "Your line experienced health and years beyond the lot of mortals. Their kine were fat and their crops abundant. My people prospered as well. Yet your father and his father forsook the old alliance. I had hoped to renew our accord by giving my daughter to be your wife, but I see you have wed another. Would it be possible for you to have your consort set aside?"

"My spouse," Tom said carefully, "is from an ancient, wealthy Wizarding family of great prominence and we are very much in love." He was relieved to see Art nod in understanding. "I gather that one purpose of the alliance must have been to supply mortal children to sustain your own bloodline. My mother was a witch, and it happens our people are not particularly fertile either. Although I would like to continue the friendship between our families, I must tactfully suggest you broaden the pool of potential suitors for your daughter."

"I have been informed that my eldest daughter and son have been missing since this morning," Arthuis told Tom.

"As it happens, my tenant farmer and his cattle vanished earlier today," said Tom pointedly.

The chieftain sighed. "It is easy to raise resourceful children. It is more difficult to raise them to be honourable and obedient."


	12. Chapter 12

The Luck of Little Hangleton by Pipenerd (2006)

Written for the 2006 Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to**: Sabrina Numair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs:** Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

One evening, Percy Weasley stopped by the house Harry shared with Hermione and Ron for one of his weekly attempts to repair his relationship with his brother. They sat around the dining room table after dinner, drinking butterbeer and catching up on gossip. When Harry went into the kitchen for another round, Percy accompanied him.

"Mr. Scrimgeour wants you to stop by his office tomorrow," he said in a quiet voice.

"What's that about?" Harry wondered.

"He didn't tell me everything, but I do know he had a meeting today with the Prime Minister. I think he's going to ask you to take another special assignment."

Harry thought about it for the rest of the night. He'd spent his school years preparing for the day when he'd be called on to fight Lord Voldemort to preserve the Wizarding world and with the war ending in a truce, he'd found himself without a purpose in life. By morning, he'd decided he might as well to go to the Ministry and take whatever task Scrimgeour gave him.

Percy took him right in when he arrived at the office of the Minister of Magic. Rufeous Scrimgeour wasn't alone.

"You know Alastor Moody," he said. Harry smiled to see the former Auror and member of the Order of the Phoenix that he still thought of as Professor.

"This is the situation, gentlemen." Scrimgeour came right to the point. "The Prime Minister contacted us yesterday at the behest of his Canadian counterpart. A group of Muggle magicians in Quebec has successfully summoned creatures known as _Ithaqua."_

"You mean Great Old Ones?" Moody asked. "Remnants of pre-human visitors from some distant world," he said in answer to Harry's questioning look.

The Minister handed Harry an ancient book. "This is Dr. Dee's translation of the _Necronomicon._ You'd better read it."

Harry spent the rest of the day reading the book and had bad dreams all night. He arrived in Montreal accompanied by Moody the next day, ostensibly to aid the authorities in the investigation of a mysterious house explosion. To Harry's dismay, it turned out that the group of university professors and their students had used ceremonial magic to summon the _Ithaqua. _He relayed the information to the Ministry and their response was to send assistance in the surprising form of Lord Voldemort. Moody had predictably clashed with the Dark wizard and Harry had had to intervene.

A few days later, it had been determined that the teachers and students were going to make another attempt to contact the _Ithaqua. _The wizards encouraged the police to maintain surveillance outside the University while they went inside one of the buildings to observe the proceedings

"Stay with him," Moody insisted to Harry as Voldemort inspected the projection room as a concealed position from which to observe the auditorium where the group was to attempt the summoning. "I personally don't trust him not to throw in his lot with the loathsome creatures."

Moody went off to find another vantage point. Harry and Tom took the precaution of warding their own position and settled down to wait. As evening began to fall outside, the temperature inside the building began to fall. Particles were swirling in the air and Harry realized they were snowflakes, but the crystals were prismatic and reflected a kaleidoscope of colours. Tom startled him by swearing, something Harry had never heard him do before.

Harry turned to him. "What?"

"Muggles," Tom spat. "Ceremonial magic requires precision and attention to detail. They've inscribed their wretched sigils improperly."

"Does that mean those things won't be contained?" Harry asked, trying to suppress the fear that began to rise.

Tom nodded grimly.

"Will these wards hold?"

"Possibly."

Harry found his calm infuriating. "What about Moody?"

Tom shrugged. "He's a wily old bastard, and I really don't care what happens to him."

An unearthly howl filled the air and the concrete hall began to shudder. From the auditorium below came frightened shouts.

"I read in the _Necronomicon _–" Harry began.

"A little light recreational reading?" Tom asked, amused.

Harry ignored him. "- that they're a lot like Dementors except that they devour your body as well as your soul."

"Yes," Tom said. "I expect having Horcruxes will unfortunately prolong the process in my case."

Downstairs, people began to scream. "How can you be so calm?" Harry demanded. "Those people are going to die!"

Tom regarded him with curiosity. He knew that the iconic Gryffindor courage was an integral component of Harry's personality and it wasn't difficult to understand what had brought him so close to the edge of panic. "It's not your problem, Harry." A smile curled the corner of his mouth.

Harry stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

"You can't save them. This is one of those situations when there's nothing that anyone can do." He took a few steps, pointedly placing himself between Harry and the door.

_"_I should _try," _Harry said urgently.

"The _Ithaqua_ are going to come for us soon enough," Tom told him calmly. "We may not be able to do anything about that, either, but I don't plan to spend my last minutes worrying about something I can't stop."

"You're saying there's nothing we can do to help them, or to save ourselves?" Harry clenched his fists in frustration.

"That's right." Tom's confidence was infuriating.

Oddly enough, the unreal situation seemed somehow familiar to Harry: the dimly lit room, the long, black shadows, the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place, the almost hungry expression in Tom's eyes…Harry stared at him. "You can't expect me just to -"

Tom reached out with both hands and gave him a shove.

Harry was taken completely unawares and stumbled backward. He hit the wall and looked at Tom in shock as he advanced, eyes glinting. And then Harry realized what this must be about: the physical attack was a distraction. After months of waiting, his enemy was finally showing his true colours. Neither he nor Moody had actually checked with the Ministry to make sure they had sent Tom. In fact, Moody's mistrust of the Dark wizard had probably played right into his plan to get Harry alone. This small room was going to be the scene of Harry's final battle with Lord Voldemort.

Harry Occluded his mind and began sorting through spells, looking for one to use as his opening attack. This time, he wasn't going though the motions of duelling with someone who was only going to dispense with the niceties.

Tom suddenly hissed, "_What are you doing_?" His hands were on the wall, one to either side of Harry; he was so close that Harry could see his pupils were nearly black. Harry looked at him breathlessly for an instant and then Tom leaned in and, unexpectedly, kissed him. Harry tensed, prepared to repel a curse, but the anticipated attack was not launched. Slowly, he felt himself relaxing into the kiss and, without conscious thought, dropped his defenses and pulled Tom closer to reply. The room was growing colder with a preternatural chill, and outside the room an unearthly roar began to build, but Harry was kissing Tom desperately and Tom tightened his arms around him in an effort to slow him down. They broke apart for an instant, breath steaming in the cold air, and then Harry tangled his fingers in Tom's dark hair and pulled him close once more.

The shouts from the group in the auditorium had turned to shrieks of terror intermingled with the inhuman growls of the creatures, but Harry was completely focused on the sensation of Tom's lips on his jaw and against his throat. His hands were moving down Tom's shoulders and arms and he inhaled sharply as Tom pushed up his sweater; he felt the sensation of cold hands touching his skin, encouraging the growing warmth inside him. Then, quite suddenly, the horrific sounds from below stopped altogether. Tom pulled away, his cheek still resting against Harry's, and they both looked uneasily at the now-glowing wards, conscious of the inhuman awareness now focused upon them.

"I wish we had more time," Harry said wistfully.

"Together, there's a bare chance we may be able to defeat them," Tom told him. "Are you ready to help me?"

"But a minute ago you said –" Harry caught himself and just nodded. "What do you want me to do?"

"Put more power into the wards." Tom's arms tightened around him again. "We're two of the most powerful wizards in the world. Surely we can do a bit more than give them indigestion." He began to speak softly in a guttural language not meant for the human vocal apparatus.

Harry poured energy into the wards as they began to flicker beneath the onslaught from outside. He held on to Tom with his remaining strength. An unbearably shrill, inhuman scream filled the air and the light from the wards became blinding, even through their tightly closed eyes. Harry felt, rather than heard, Tom conclude whatever spell he had begun. And then they collapsed, insensible, to the floor.

Sometime later, they opened their eyes. The wards were dark, the temperature was warmer and the building was silent as a tomb. Harry felt Tom stirring at his side.

"Are you all right?" Tom asked quietly.

"Yes," Harry answered. "Are you?"

"So it would seem."

"Did you banish the _Ithaqua_?"

Tom fell silent. "Yes," he said after a bit. "They're gone."

Harry sat up. "You bastard," he said, looking down at Tom. Anger was coursing through him, and it was an effort to keep his voice steady.

"Now what are you on about?" Tom asked, not taking his eyes off Harry's face.

"You lied to me. You let those people die!"

"There wasn't enough power between the two of us to be of any use against a pack of lesser Old Ones," Tom said quietly. "It was only because I was able to use the psychic energy from the deaths of the Muggles they killed that I could cast them back into the outer void."

Harry tried to absorb that. "So there really wasn't anything we could have done to save them?" he asked finally.

Tom sighed. "Harry, the great Alhazred warned his followers not to call up any beings they couldn't put down. Those Muggles summoned things they couldn't control, and they paid the price of their folly. If you'd tried to save them, you would have been killed and I would have died trying to save you from your own foolishness. Moody, the police officers and most, if not all, of the people on this campus would be dead and the _Ithaqua_ would still be at large. Throwing yourself into the breach is very heroic, but it isn't always the brightest thing to do."

"How did you know how to use that energy to banish them?" Harry wondered.

"You're not the only one who reads for recreation," Tom told him with a wry smile. "I've been studying the _Necronomicon_ myself."

"Earlier, I thought you were attacking me.I'm sorry to have doubted you," Harry said, abashed.

"I suppose my bad reputation must be to blame," Tom replied dryly. While he'd learned to control his own volatile emotions, he was beginning to realize Harry's temperament was positively mercurial, and keeping up with his changes of mood was turning out to be a bit of a challenge.

"Tom -" Harry began.

"_Yes_?"

"- when you were kissing me, did you mean that just to be a distraction?"

"Oh, no," Tom replied, with a look that made Harry's insides squirm pleasantly. "There was a chance we were going to die, and I thought it would be a terrible shame were that to happen before I'd ever kissed you."

"Do you want," Harry said hesitantly, "to try it again sometime? When we're not in mortal peril?"

Tom laughed softly and Harry didn't resist as he pulled him close again. This time, there was no hurry or desperation, and they took their time, kissing slowly. Harry's hands slid beneath Tom's jacket, tracing his chest and each rib through the fabric of his shirt, and he had the satisfaction of hearing Tom sigh with pleasure at his touch.

"I've waited a long time for this, Harry Potter," Tom said, in a low voice that Harry found terribly sexy.

And then, Harry realized what had seemed so familiar about the scenario, from Tom's behavior down to the aura of menace: it reminded him uncannily of his encounter with the Riddle horcrux and the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. He began to laugh.

Tom asked, "What's so funny?"

Before Harry could answer, they heard, from somewhere below, Alastor Moody calling their names and swearing.

"It appears that our colleague, the esteemed Mr. Moody, has survived the experience as well," Tom observed.

"I'm glad that you were right about him, too." Harry started to sit up, but Tom held him back.

"Let me take you home with me tonight, Harry," he said softly.

"The police will probably keep us here for hours," Harry objected.

"Afterward, then."

"Moody-"

"-will either retire to his hotel room or Apparate back to England. When this is over, you'll be free to do as you please."

Harry looked at him a bit shyly. "All right," he agreed in a hushed voice.

They helped one another to stand and Tom pulled him close and kissed him again. "All in all, I'm glad this will be the last time you and I will be working together like this," he said, unlocking the door while Harry inactivated the wards.

"All the adventure and danger too exciting for you?" Harry teased.

Tom looked altogether too pleased with himself. "You haven't heard? Horace Slughorn has managed to have me appointed to a vacancy in the Wizengamot. I'm still not certain how I feel about it, but apparently I'm about to become too valuable to risk on missions of this kind. I was in the Minister's office when your owl arrived, and I hurried to volunteer to help you before they could settle on a date for my confirmation."

It took Harry a moment to find his voice. "Wow. You're respectable."

"Oh, no," Tom said and laughed. "I'll always be a rebel, Harry."

**A/N: **"Throw in his lot with the loathsome creatures." I'm pretty sure that was Corwin speaking of Ganelon in Roger Zelazny's "The Guns of Avalon."

The _Necronomicon,_ the Great Old Ones and Abdul Alhazred were created by H.P.Lovecraft. The _Ithaqua_ were created by August Derleth.

I confess to having ripped off large parts of descriptive text and a bit of dialog from Chapter 17, "The Heir of Slytherin," Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling.


	13. Chapter 13

The Luck of Little Hangleton by Pipenerd (2006)

Written for the 2006 Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to**: Sabrina Numair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs:** Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

"You're not saying anything, Harry."

"I'm a bit surprised, that's all. You didn't tell me it's so big."

"Yes, I did. I've been talking about it for weeks."

"Well, I guess it's different, actually seeing it up close like this."

"It's not all that much bigger than yours."

"How do you know how big mine is?" Harry demanded.

"I've discussed it with people who have seen it."

"Like who?"

"Ron, Hermione, Ginny…"

"That's just great. You've been pumping my friends for information."

Tom was amused. "It just came up in conversation. Apparently, they don't think it's a secret."

"I have to admit I'm intimidated. I never really imagined it was anything like this."

"Believe me, it's really quite comfortable inside. I certainly think it's nice. Eventually, you're going to have to decide for yourself."

"All right. We've gotten this far. Show me your house."


	14. Chapter 14

The Luck of Little Hangleton by Pipenerd (2006)

Written for the 2006 Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to**: Sabrina Numair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs:** Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

The enormous tent was so crowded it seemed all the inhabitants of the village and surrounding countryside were there, with the populace of Greater Hangleton thrown in for good measure. Everyone was consuming quantities of the special ale brewed for the festival by the local pub and Harry wasn't certain whether it was from too much ale or too little food, but the day had taken on an aura of unreality. He was sitting with Daphne, her son Cassidy and his friend, Oriana. As far as he had been able to follow, Oriana was a political science major Cassidy had just met and they shared an intense interest in these ancient Celts and local history. They kept finishing each other's sentences and jumped from topic to topic so quickly that Daphne and Harry were completely lost. Daphne just sat watching them with a benevolent expression while Harry had turned his attention to his souvenir mug, which was decorated with medieval warriors battling in Gryffindor and Slytherin livery.

"Excuse me," he said loudly. Oriana and Cassidy stopped in mid-sentence and looked at him. "What can you tell me about these knights?"

"The battle of the Oak King and the Holly King is a seasonal motif from Celtic times," Cassidy explained. "You find different versions throughout Britain, but here in Little Hangleton they took on the appearance of the two barons whose lands adjoined nearby – "

"Gryffindor and Slytherin," Oriana finished. "The village is almost on the border of their lands. There were two local knights who represented the interests of the barons. On the Gryffindor side were the Ryedels. Their manor is on the hill overlooking the village."

"That's your house, Harry," Daphne interjected.

Oriana turned to Harry in surprise. "Y_ou_ are descended from Sir Guilliame de Ryedel?" she demanded.

"No," Harry said quickly. "That's Tom, my – er-"

"Fiancé," supplied Daphne helpfully. They all appeared nonplussed. "That _is_ the proper term for the man you intend to legally marry," she said defensively.

Oriana laughed so hard, she put her head down on her arms and her body shook the table. She looked up a couple times as to explain, but her eyes filled with tears and she dissolved into laughter again.

"We should probably get some food, or we'll all be in her condition," Daphne remarked with practicality. "Come with me, Cassidy. Harry, you'd better keep an eye on her."

Oriana sat up and wiped her eyes with the damp paper napkin from under her glass. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said. "I hope I didn't offend you." Harry shrugged. "It's just that my father hoped I might marry into the Ryedel family."

"Riddle," Harry corrected.

"As you say. But I'm thinking you won't wish to share your man with me!"

"You don't seem too broken up about it," he observed.

"I think it is a peculiar thing to wish to marry someone you have never seen and know nothing of," she replied with spirit.

"You have a point," he agreed. "So what was the name of the knight on the Slytherin side of the border?"

Oriana thought a moment. "Peverell," she said at last.

Harry swore quietly.

"There must be someone from the House of Gryffindor here!" a voice said loudly.

Harry looked around and saw two of the horsemen who had arrived too late to ride in the parade. They carried the ubiquitous souvenir glasses of ale and were striding purposefully through the crowd. "I'm from Gryffindor," Harry announced, pushing back his chair and standing up. One of the two men waved in acknowledgement and they began to thread their way toward the table.

"I don't believe it," Oriana muttered in dismay.

"Do you know them?" Harry asked.

"It's my brother and his best friend," she answered, slinking down into her chair.

"I think I just made a big mistake," Harry told her. "You see, I went to a school Godric Gryffindor founded. I thought those guys were from there…"

As the young men approached, Harry could see they were dressed in loose linen shirts and wool trousers with plaid wool cloaks, and he wondered how they could stand it inside the heat of the tent. The redhead, whom Harry assumed to be Oriana's brother, looked at her in consternation. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"She's under my protection," Harry started to explain.

"That's bold talk, even for a Gryffindor!" The young man pushed back his cloak and put his hand on the hilt of the sword that hung at his belt.

Harry was bewildered at the change in direction this had taken. "Excuse me?" Something that felt extrordinarily like a spell passed very close and he rounded on the dark-haired man. "Did you just hex me?" Harry accused.

"Oh, basely done!" Oriana cried, rising to her feet. "I would have thought better of thee!"

Harry looked at the three of them in sudden realization. "You aren't from around here, are you?"

Cassidy left his mother to wait at the bar when he saw the confrontation at their table. He walked over and stood at Harry's side. "Is there a problem?" he asked. "Because if there is, we should take it outside."

"And who might you be?" one of the men challenged belligerently.

"I'm Cassidy York, and you're harassing my friends!"

_Here we go,_ Harry thought, wondering whether he should throw a Shield charm over his friends or Stun Oriana's brother and his companion.

"Wait 'til I tell Nerissa!" Oriana fumed. "She'll prefer to marry a dog than you, Prince of Lochlann!"

That seemed to break the stalemate. The dark-haired man relaxed and said, smiling, "Don't be hasty, Oriana! It is our concern for you that has made us so anxious and I apologize to you and your companions for our lack of courtesy." He turned to Harry and Cassidy. "My friend's sister became separated from us earlier today and it is her parent's worry that sent us to find her."

"How easily lies fall from your lips!" Oriana cried. "You never looked to find me here! I saw the surprise on your foolish faces!"

The red-head looked embarrassed. "Forgive us, good sirs," he said. "We never meant to offend a son of Gryffindor. I am Ahern, son of the Chieftain of Elmet. This is my friend and brother-at-arms, Caedmon, Prince of Lochlann. We were hunting near the Border this morning when the wards came down, and we rode out to scout the land. Has your lord been informed?"

"Wards?" Harry repeated. "Do you mean _magical_ wards?" They all looked at him in confusion. "My name is Harry Potter and I think we need to sit down and discuss this."

**A/N:** "Oh, basely done! I would have thought better of thee!" Originally, Lord Borel to Prince Corwin in Roger Zelazny's "The Courts of Chaos."

Everyone remembers the Peverells from HBP Chapter 10, right?


	15. Chapter 15

The Luck of Little Hangleton by Pipenerd (2006)

Written for the 2006 Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to**: Sabrina Numair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs:** Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

"I can't believe a grandson of mine has never been on a horse," Sir Simon de Ryedel complained as Tom eyed the huge animal without enthusiasm. "How can you claim a title without knowing the basic skills of knighthood?"

"I'm a _wizard_, Simon," Tom said, trying to control his temper. "Horses are no longer used for transportation in the outside world. And I don't need a sword or spear to kill a man."

"Then you _have_ slain men in battle," Simon said, eyeing him intently.

"In battle and in duels."

Simon clapped him on the shoulder. "Good! I feared the blood of the Ryedels had become thin and weak. And have your deeds brought you wealth and fame? Are you feared by your enemies and respected by your allies?"

Tom smiled coldly. "Yes. Even my foes respect my name."

"Then riding a horse will prove no challenge."

It wasn't exactly graceful, and he cheated with a silent _Mobilis_, but Tom managed to get seated. Simon mounted his own steed with easy grace and leaned over to show him how to hold the reins. Tom consoled himself that in a worst case scenario he had the option of using a Sticking charm to stay on or could place an Imperious curse on the horse to make it do what he wanted.

Simon and Tom both cringed as drums began to beat loudly, accompanied by the piercing drone of bagpipes. "They're not going with us?" Tom asked, incredulous, as the musicians marched past them to the gate.

"Of course!" Simon answered. "The Chieftain of Elmet is riding out with his knights. The music of pipes and drums proclaim his coming to the inhabitants of the Border."

Art rode up to them through the disorganized throng. "Lord Voldemort, we ride to return my wandering children home and will conduct you to your estate. Should you change your mind and wish to return with us, know you will find a place of honour among the _Sidhe._"

Tom inclined his head. "My plans remain unchanged, Lord of Elmet. Yet I'm certain we can maintain the old alliance between our families through the bonds of friendship."

Art nodded. "You have been my guest and the bags on your horse are filled with gifts of friendship. In the future, I will be your guest and so the alliance will be maintained."

"When the renovations are complete, I will send word to the fort in the way you suggested," Tom promised. He could foresee several situations in which a band of _Sidhe_ allies might prove very useful.

Art clasped hands with him formally and then gave a signal. The pipes and drums started anew and the warriors of Elmet rode from the fortress into the blazing Midsummer sunshine toward the village of Little Hangleton.

**A/N:** Okay, my user name is Pipenerd. Didn't think I could get through a fic without the skirl of the pipes, did you?


	16. Chapter 16

The Luck of Little Hangleton by Pipenerd (2006)

Written for the 2006 Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to**: Sabrina Numair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs:** Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

Seven Oaks had been built in the early twentieth century by Girard, the prominent wizard architect from the Nancy School. His specialty had been combining Art Nouveau elements with magical touches integrated into the structure. It was among the most magical residences in the country, and when Seven Oaks had been put up for sale, Lord Voldemort had immediately purchased it. The spacious grounds and quiet setting made a splendid retreat for the newest member of the Wizengamot and his friends and numerous admirers.

Kieran Macleod was relaxing in a rocking chair of the graceful front porch mansion one April evening. The shadows had grown deep and birds were chirping in the trees as they settled down for the night.

"Kieran? You're back early."

MacLeod looked up to see the master of the house walking across the lawn. "Good evening, my lord. Margaret is staying with her parents this week and they had me to dinner. It was an early night for us."

Tom stopped at the bottom step and leaned on the railing. "Hers is a pure-blood family, I believe?"

"Yes, my lord. They've often mentioned you favourably."

Tom nodded. "Why don't you arrange a date convenient for all of us and have them here with your parents for dinner. We're going to be seeing each other after your wedding, so we should start getting acquainted."

"Thank you," MacLeod said. "That's very generous, sir."

"You know I'm alone, Kieran. My friends _are_ my family."

"And shall I send an owl to invite Harry as well?"

Tom sighed and walked slowly up the steps. "Harry and I are no longer seeing each other."

MacLeod was stunned. "My lord – forgive me, I don't understand."

Tom sat down heavily in the chair next to MacLeod's. "We had a discussion before dinner that ended with a mutual decision to end our liaison.

"That must have been hours ago, sir…"

"Yes," Tom agreed. "I walked around London for some time after that. I felt like killing someone and realized I probably shouldn't come home until the feeling passed."

MacLeod nodded slowly. "Excuse me, my lord. I'll be right back." He went inside the house. Tom looked out across the grounds, where the moon had risen above the pavilion. He felt old and tired. He couldn't remember anything hurting this badly before.

MacLeod reappeared. He held out a bottle with a familiar label. "My Dad and brothers taught me an old Gaelic proverb: _An rud nach leigheasann im ná uisce beatha níl aon leigheas air_. It means, 'What butter or whiskey does not cure cannot be cured.'" He offered a glass with his other hand.

"I think your family may be wrong; some things cannot be cured at all. But I hope you brought two glasses, Kieran," Tom said, accepting the one MacLeod handed him.

"Why, thank you, sir," MacLeod said, producing another glass. "It's always an honour to drink with you."

Five days later, Harry was having breakfast with Hermione and Ron.

"I can't believe you're serious about finding your own place," Ron said. He was standing in front of the stove, watching the bacon cook from a safe distance.

"It's about time I started acting like an adult," Harry answered, taking plates from the cupboard. "Besides, you and Hermione are going to have to get married eventually. The Doctors Granger won't wait forever to host the wedding of the decade."

"Where are you going to start looking?" Hermione asked, setting butter and syrup on the table.

"Hogsmeade," Harry said, picking up the _Daily Prophet. _"I don't think I could live in Godric's Hollow and with the Order disbanded, I should sell Number 12 Grimmauld Place."

Ron took the last of the bacon from the skillet and started dividing it between their plates. "What sort of place do you think you want?"

"A house with personality. You know, sort of like the Burrow. It should have interesting hallways and rooms of all different sizes. Maybe a covered deck where we could have drinks…" His voice trailed off as he realized he would probably never again have tea on the second-story deck at Seven Oaks, beneath the pleated glass canopy that looked like a huge paper parasol. He felt rather than saw the look that passed between his friends and hurriedly picked up his mug. "My coffee's gone. Isn't that new pot done yet?"

"In a minute," Hermione said. "And the waffles are nearly ready." She glanced at the _Prophet_. "I see Dolores Umbridge's murder has been bumped from the front page."

"Percy says it's likely to remain an unsolved crime, too," Ron told them. "She had no friends, everybody disliked her and the night she was killed, nearly everyone from the Minister and his staff to regular witches and wizards were in London. Including the three of us."

Harry hurriedly turned the pages of the paper and stopped. There was a picture of Narcissa, the former Mrs. Malfoy, with her best friend, Camille Parkinson, at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Improbably, Tom was sitting between them, his expression of ironic amusement painfully familiar to Harry. Ron looked over his shoulder and read: "Too famous to be named, three of the Wizarding world's most eligible singles enjoyed sundaes in Diagon Alley yesterday. Since Fortescue's ice cream is rumoured to be able to cure a broken heart, we, like you, dear readers, can only speculate whether this relates to the sensational divorce now in the headlines or to some more private loss."

"Narcissa is everyone's mum," Harry said dismissively.

"Think she's going to ask _you_ out for ice cream?" Ron asked pointedly.

Harry shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised."

Hermione handed him a plate laden with waffles and bacon. "Harry, why don't you just go over to his house and apologize?"

"Because it wasn't my fault!" he said, annoyed. "_He_ dumped _me_. Besides, he'd probably hex me and have that goon MacLeod leave me in a heap outside the front gate with bits of my motorbike strewn artistically about."

"You're a stubborn one, mate," Ron said, sitting down.

"Look who's talking," Harry muttered. He picked up his fork and tried to decide what to eat first.

"Harry, whenever Hermione and I disagree about something, I always apologize. Because it's usually my fault anyways, and even if it's not I usually end up getting blamed, so it saves a lot of time and we can get back to being friends."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry, do you think he realized you wanted to break up and did it first to save face?"

Harry put his fork back down. "I don't know, Hermione. Isn't that sort of devious?"

Ron choked on the piece of waffle he was eating and Harry pounded him on the back.

"It's obvious you still have feelings for him," Hermione said as they all sat back down.

"Do you know what I worry about most?" Harry asked quietly. "I'll be walking through the Ministry one day and run into him and he'll smile politely and say, 'Hello, Harry," like I'm someone he has to be nice to. And eventually he's going to fall madly in love with someone else and I'll know all about it because of the damned scar!" He threw down his fork and walked over to the sink, where he stood staring out the window.

"You need some closure," Hermione said urgently. "One way or another, you have to get on with your life."

"If there's a way to get rid of the scar, we'll find it," Ron added.

Harry returned to the table and poured syrup on his waffles. Without looking up, he asked, "Are you going to the pub after the match this afternoon? If I'm in the neighbourhood, maybe I'll stop in."

Hermione threw a concerned look at Ron, who shook his head.

Seven Oaks had been named for a grove of ancient trees that grew near the front of the property. Local legend had it that the trees were either enchanted maidens or enchanted cranes, or perhaps enchanted maidens who could change into cranes. Neither Harry nor Tom had been able to find any trace of magic among the oaks, but it was true that every time they were counted, there seemed to be a different number of trees. Coasting up the driveway, Harry paused as always to count them and today he came up with exactly seven. He wondered if that had any significance.

The sight of Seven Oaks looking so comfortable in its surroundings, as if it had been grown rather than built, usually filled him with a sense of homecoming. Perhaps that was because all the other times he'd been there, either Tom had brought him or had been waiting at the door to welcome him. Today the house appeared cold and empty. Harry wasn't sure whether Tom was home or not; they'd both been Occluding their thoughts since the quarrel. He left his helmet on the motor bike and crunched up the gravel to the house.

Harry began to have misgivings. He noticed chairs and side tables had been placed on the porch in anticipation of nice weather. He had a feeling that this visit was a waste of time and that no pleasant evenings spent sitting out there with friends were going to be in his future.

He rang the bell and one of the house-elfs answered the door. "It is Mr. Harry Potter," the elf said in recognition. "You may come in." At least the help hadn't yet been instructed to turn him away, he thought.

Harry stepped inside, feeling like a stranger as the elf hurried away to announce him. He unzipped his leather jacket and ran a hand through his hair. There was a new table in the centre of the circular foyer, round with a tree-root base. The twisted appearance of the root echoed the sinuous motifs of the murals and the staircase banister. He heard the hum of bubbling water from the corridor and, remembering his favourite professor's lessons, he wondered what sort of creatures might now be residing in the aquariums.

Echoing footsteps announced an arrival, but to his disappointment it was only MacLeod, who greeted him with a look of professional disapproval.

"Hi," Harry said with a strained smile. "Is he in?"

"Lord Voldemort is just leaving for an appointment," MacLeod replied curtly.

They both turned to hear someone on the stairs and saw Tom step into view. He was wearing a dark suit and carried black robes over his arm.

"It's all right, Kieran. Harry, I'm glad you're here." Tom quickly mastered his surprise and casually dropped the robes on the table. "Let's go into the parlour. Would you like something to drink?"

"No thanks, I'm fine," Harry lied, following him into the cosy room. Large windows looked out on the side gardens, the most formal on the grounds, filled with herbs and roses just awakening from winter slumber. Tom closed the door and Harry felt suddenly awkward to be alone with him.

"I've missed you," Tom said at the same time Harry said, "I'm sorry." They looked at each other uncertainly.

Tom still hadn't recovered from the sight of him in the foyer: emerald eyes, dishevelled hair and defiant attitude. But it was the aura of immense magical power that Harry wore as heedlessly as that old leather jacket that he found so captivating. _If I'd never seen him before, if I didn't know him and he walked into my life, I'd be a fool to let him go,_ he thought. In that moment, he felt his resolve weaken and doubted whether he would really be able to send him away as he'd rehearsed so many times over the past few days.

They were so close Harry could smell the fragrance Tom wore, oak-moss and vetivert, and he felt an intense longing to throw his arms around him. He pushed the feeling away with difficulty, knowing that wasn't the way to win him back. "I was angry at first," he began. "I suppose you were, too. Afterward, I just felt sorry for myself. And then, I decided to get on with my life. But the problem is you're so much a part of my life that without you, there's not a lot to be getting on with."

Tom smiled ruefully. "I've thought about what you said the other night, and I believe you were right when you told me it's hopeless. Powerful wizards do not form lasting attachments. Suspicion is Merlin's legacy to us."

"One disagreement doesn't mean we've failed," Harry said quietly. "I think it's important we keep trying. Don't you?"

Tom looked unconvinced. "Harry, what makes you think two people who have tried to kill each other could ever be happy together?"

"Because we stopped," Harry said simply. "No one knows me better than you do. No one knows you better than me. When it comes right down to it, there's no one I'd rather be with."

"You told me that you don't trust me," Tom continued, unrelenting.

Harry nodded. "I've thought about that. This whole thing started because you asked me to live here with you, and it scared the hell out of me. But it isn't you that I don't trust – it's me. I don't feel confident enough to be your partner. It's a responsibility and I'm not certain –," He paused, searching for the right words. "I'm not certain I can live up to your expectations."

Whatever was left of Tom's resolve melted. He didn't need Legilmency to see Harry's sincerity; it was glowing in the depths of his eyes. _Just say it,_ he thought, but Harry didn't. The moment began to slip away and Tom realized it was up to him. "Harry, I –"

There was a discreet tap on the door. "My lord?" MacLeod called apologetically.

"Figures," Harry muttered.

Tom turned to the door with a sigh. "Yes, Kieran, I know. I'm going to be late."

MacLeod was holding Tom's robes. "Sorry, but yes, sir."

Harry had a terrible thought. "You're not-"

"No, I am not going on a date with someone else!" Tom laughed as Harry visibly relaxed.

"There's so much I want to tell you," Harry said, disappointed.

"And I want us to have a long, uninterrupted conversation." Tom gave the matter some thought. "If you're willing to wait for me, we could talk when I get back."

Harry smiled. "Yeah. I'd like that."

"Good," Tom said, relieved to have found a solution. "Kieran will be going out as well, so you'll have the house to yourself. Unfortunately, I don't know how long I'll be gone. Ask the house-elfs for whatever you want for dinner."

He took the robes from MacLeod, who opened the French doors leading to the terrace. Because of the various charms, curses and jinxes protecting the house, it wasn't possible to Apparate off the premises from inside. Harry followed Tom out.

"I'll be waiting," Harry reminded him. "Be careful."

"I always am," Tom assured him. Harry's smile faltered for a moment and Tom gave in to impulse, kissing him lightly on the mouth. Harry looked gratifyingly surprised and pleased. "I'll try to get this over with as quickly as I can," Tom promised. Then he was gone.

Subdued once more, Harry turned back to the house. MacLeod was waiting inside with an unreadable expression. "Is there anything I can do for you before I leave?" he asked. Harry shook his head. "No? Then, have a good night."

Harry looked around the room and wondered whether this was meant to be a sort of punishment, spending the evening in the house he loved best as a guest. He couldn't go up to the library, because he no longer felt comfortable going through the private areas of the house. He had no belongings here, so he couldn't wash and change clothes. He could no longer call Tom's room his, so he couldn't even go to bed if he got sleepy later.

Harry went to the kitchen and asked one of the house-elfs to bring coffee and some sandwiches to the dining room. Memories rebuked him as he ate his solitary meal. One afternoon, with an air of mystery, Harry had led Tom to the deserted dining room and pulled him to the floor beneath the long table. The legs of the chairs and pedestals of the table seemed like a forest, full of mystery and adventure. Harry dragged out a chair and said, "Come on." They crawled inside on hands and knees like explorers entering a wilderness. Tom immediately had a painful encounter with a carved dragon claw and had sworn profoundly, causing Harry to laugh so hard, he'd hit his head on the bottom of the table. They'd wandered through the woods, evaded ferocious beasts and had been captured by outlaws. Harry challenged the leader of the bandits, defeated him in combat and had been seduced by him after the victory feast. Afterward, they just held each other and watched the sunlight trace a path across the patterned carpet. Harry had tried to imagine how different their lives might have been had they grown up together in a house like this, full of wonder and magic, innocent of deprivation and fear. "What matters is that we have each other now," Tom had whispered, reading his thoughts. They'd crawled from beneath the table and had gone upstairs to sleep, curled up together on Tom's bed.

Harry finished the coffee but left most of his food. He went to the parlour, put on his jacket and climbed the spiral staircase. It seemingly ended at the ceiling, but the pudgy bronze dragon finial at the top was a port key that took him out to the garden, near the pavilion that looked like a melted classical temple. He sat on the bench inside, where he could see the house and the glass roof over the deck glowing softly in the moonlight. He remembered one freezing night in February when they'd stepped outside to peer at the stars from beneath the shelter of the fanciful canopy. The wind had been bitterly cold and Tom had conjured coats for them both. Harry had been repelled to find they were real fur and Tom had laughed at his delicate sensibilities. Looking up, Harry had gasped to see sheer curtains of colour billowing across the starlit sky. "You've never seen the Northern Lights before?" Tom had asked. He had taken Harry's hands in his to keep them warm and together they had watched the diaphanous colours dance on the winter wind.

Harry stood up, noticing a nearly-empty liquor bottle and two glasses on the floor near the bench. He squinted at the label: Scotch. That pretty well limited the guilty parties to Tom and MacLeod. Wishing he'd had the foresight to bring something of the sort, he considered for a moment finishing off the bottle. With a sigh, he picked up the Scotch and the glasses and headed back to the house.

The double doors to the parlour admitted him. He took off his jacket and asked one of the elfs for more coffee. There were a few books on the shelves and he looked through a volume of nineteenth-century Wizarding photography, moved on to Decadent poetry, skimmed a collection of Lord Dunsany's short stories and finally fell asleep on the sofa with a large book of pre-Raphaelite paintings over his face.

He barely awoke when he was lifted gently from the sofa and was too sleepy to register he'd been Apparated. It was only when his glasses were removed that he opened his eyes to notice the room lighting was different and he was lying on a bed. "Tom?"

A blurry shape moved into his field of vision. "Are you waking up, or going back to sleep?" Tom asked, sounding amused.

Harry blinked and licked his dry lips. "I haven't decided." He looked about fuzzily. "This isn't your room."

"No. I thought that would be presumptuous. This is one of the guest rooms."

Harry felt his shoes being pulled off and said, "Don't go yet."

Tom sat down on the bed and took off his own shoes. Then he lay back, propped on one elbow so he could look at Harry.

"How was your night?" Harry asked, trying to focus his eyes.

"Just the usual atrocities you'd expect when Slytherins get together," Tom answered.

"I'm glad you're in such a good mood."

"It's only because you're here. I've been in a terrible mood all week. Ask Kieran."

"You looked pretty happy in the picture from Fortescue's."

"Camille had just dropped the cherry from her sundae down Narcissa's top. You might have smirked a bit yourself."

Harry laughed sleepily and slipped an arm around Tom's shoulder, searching for his mouth with half-closed eyes. Tom leaned down and they kissed slowly. "Harry, I've missed you so," Tom whispered, gathering him in his arms.

Harry snuggled close. "I want to hear about the atrocities."

"I had dinner with Horace Slughorn."

"You left me to visit an old professor and not to have some clandestine meeting with a nefarious Dark wizard?" Harry laughed and Tom's mouth came down on his. Harry's lips parted and their tongues touched and caressed. Tom wondered at how quickly he had begun to forget the faint motor-oil-and-old-leather scent of Harry's skin when he'd been out on his bike, or the comforting sensation of Harry's hair against his face when they lay together like this.

"Horace wants to open a school for the advanced study of magic," Tom said. "It would be the only one of its kind in Britain. He offered me the Department of Dark Arts. I'm considering the old Riddle mansion as a site for the school. It's just sitting there, disintegrating, while I pay the taxes. It might as well be put to good use."

"Aren't you becoming a responsible member of the Wizarding community," Harry commented with a yawn. "Will this school be for Slytherins only?"

"I imagine a majority of students would be Slytherin, but with a varied curriculum we should attract students from all the Houses and even other schools. Horace wondered whether you'd be interested in teaching Defense."

"He wants me to teach Dark Wizards how to defend against the Dark Arts?"

"Even Dark Wizards get into duels. And Horace can't resist asking someone so famous to teach at his school."

"I'll think about that tomorrow. Besides, we're supposed to be talking about us."

"Is that what we're doing," Tom said banteringly. "I could have sworn you were trying to seduce me."

"I was not," Harry said defensively. "I just like kissing you. Would you rather sit in the chairs and talk?"

"Oh, I'm quite comfortable right here," Tom assured him.

They were so close that Harry was having difficulty organizing his thoughts. Tom's heart seemed to be thudding louder than his own, and several inches away a totally different sensation against his hip indicated that Tom wasn't entirely focused on the conversation, either.

"We were discussing your anxieties about us living together," Tom prompted.

"Oh, right. We've managed to stay out of the public eye so far, but when I move in it's going to be in the _Prophet_ and all the magazines. Everyone is going to want to know all about us. I don't know if I can handle it, and I don't want to embarrass you."

"You've been in the papers before," Tom reminded him. "And, since Narcissa's recent experiences have made her something of an authority on manipulating the press, I don't anticipate we'll be news for long."

"I don't much care for some of your associates," Harry said bluntly. "So far, I've been able to avoid Bellatrix and Lucius, but if this is my home, I can't just leave every time they show up."

"Part of MacLeod's job is to ensure those sorts of difficulties don't occur. And, believe it or not, I don't find all your friends charming company. I could live quite happily if I never saw most of the Weasleys again."

"You like Ginny," Harry pointed out.

"Yes, and you and my Horcrux were fascinated with her as well, which leads to disturbing thoughts I'd rather not consider at this moment. I can tolerate Ron for your sake, but I like his fiancée Miss Granger very much. I'm going to need an assistant at the Ministry and since she's expressed an interest in politics, I intend to offer the position to her."

Harry was astonished. "She's Muggle-born! You two are at opposite ends of the political spectrum!"

Tom shrugged. "She doesn't have to agree with my agenda to shuffle my papers. If I can be flexible, you can too. Any other qualms?"

"I can't stand MacLeod."

Tom laughed. "I've noticed. The funny thing is, he likes you."

Harry appeared unconvinced. "He looks at me like I'm an inconvenience he has to put up with. I get the feeling that he doesn't approve of me at all."

"Think what you like, Harry. He's an ally you'll be wise to cultivate. Have we finally covered everything?"

"I don't exactly know how to say this," Harry took a deep breath. "I don't feel as if I'm a very lovable person."

Tom was caught completely off guard. "Do you mean I don't make you feel loved?" he asked, sounding a bit hurt. He relaxed his embrace and Harry took the opportunity to sit up.

"No, you do! Honestly, you're so affectionate it scares me sometimes! It's _me._ I don't feel – well, very deserving." He looked away, ashamed to even to admit his feelings out loud.

Tom sat up and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "That's something we share because of the circumstances of our childhoods. No one loved us and as we grew up, we assumed we didn't merit love. It won't be easy for you to overcome this feeling; I can't say for certain that I have. There's not a single time you smile at me or touch me that I don't feel unworthy. The longer we're together, though, the easier it will be for both of us."

Harry looked up and met his eyes. "That sounds as if you expect us to be together for a while."

"Harry," Tom said patiently, "when I suggested we live together, I meant it to be a permanent arrangement. I want everyone to know we belong to each other. In fact, I think we should announce our engagement. It is a universally acknowledged truth that a single man in possession of a good fortune is in want of a suitable marriage. We're both single and wealthy, and I can't think of anyone more suitable for me to marry."

"Hang on," Harry objected. "We can't get married. It's not possible."

"I've given the matter some thought. We can have a ceremony and arrange the legal aspects. A year is probably a reasonable period of time for us to make the plans, and it will give everyone else time to adjust to the idea. Besides, it's only a matter of time before the EU recognizes same-sex unions and eventually the Ministry will have to give in."

Harry was subdued. "I don't know how you can even think about all that when we just had a quarrel," he said. "I feel terrible. I wish it had never happened."

"Why, then it never happened," Tom replied.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked in a hushed voice.

"You're the only person who truly matters to me, Harry. If you want to forget it, then it's forgotten. I love you and I want you to be mine forever."

Harry looked at Tom in amazement, taken aback at his assertion. "I am," he said. "I will be."

Tom leaned closer and put his arms around him. "Harry James Potter, will you marry me?"

"Yes," Harry answered immediately. "But…can we still sleep together tonight in our own bedroom? We don't have to wait a year for that, too?"

Next to 'yes', Tom thought that 'our' was one of the most wonderful things Harry had ever said to him. "I don't know about you, but _I_ can't wait that long," Tom said, and kissed him.

Next day, a very cheerful MacLeod made arrangements for Harry's belongings to be brought to Seven Oaks.

**A/N: ** Girard was a real, albeit mysterious, member of the Nancy school.

In his old age, Merlin fell in love with a young sorceress (Vivian or Numue, depending on the version), who stole his magical prowess and imprisoned him.

"…it is a universally acknowledged truth that a single man in possession of a good fortune…" I'm certain Jane Austen never dreamed she'd be quoted in such a slashy context.


	17. Chapter 17

The Luck of Little Hangleton by Pipenerd (2006)

Written for the 2006 Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to**: Sabrina Numair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs:** Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

"Our home is on the hill behind the Ryedel manor," Oriana was explaining. "I was visiting Mr. DeLancey this morning as has been my wont, and admiring his fine bull, Bellinos. Mr. DeLancey mounted a machine and by accident destroyed the ward nearest the fort. The poor man was hurt, so I brought him inside his house, healed his wounds and cast him into a deep sleep to recover."

"So it was just one ward?" Caedmon asked with obvious disappointment.

"And we aren't at war," Ahern concluded.

"And all this happened on the hill behind the Riddle manor," Harry mused.

"Yes," Oriana said in answer to them all.

"Who's going to repair the ward?" Harry asked. "Because it sounds like a potentially catastrophic situation to me. If travel is open both ways across the Border, you could end up with a passenger jet on your side and that would bring all sorts of attention from the authorities over here."

"A wizard will have to be sent from the High King's court," Ahern said with a shrug. "It could take several days."

"I'm a wizard," Harry reminded him. "And so is my – so is Tom."

Ahern nodded decisively. "Well, then, let us see to it at once."

Oriana rose and pushed in her chair beneath the table. "Coming with us, aren't you Cassidy?

"I don't exactly – " he began.

"Cassidy, should I order more food?" Daphne asked, returning to the table and looking at the newcomers with friendly interest.

"No thanks, Mum. This is Oriana's brother, Ahern, and his friend, Caedmon. They live near DeLancey's and we're going there to check on everything."

"Would you like the keys to my van?"

Cassidy turned to Ahern. "You guys have horses, right?"

"Aye," he answered. "As long as you don't mind riding double."

"It will be faster it we take the horses, Mum. We can go cross country."

Daphne looked from face to face. "Will you be coming back to the festival later?"

"I don't think so, Daphne," Oriana answered regretfully. "But I will return soon to talk with you. And your son."

"It's been nice to meet you, too," Daphne said to Ahern and Caedmon.

"The hospitality of your village is generous, my lady," Ahern said with a bow.

"And your ale is peerless," Caedmon added.

Daphne smiled at them. "You boys are very sweet and you're always welcome to visit with your sister." She turned to Cassidy. "Call my cell phone when you get there and let me know what's going on. And Harry – don't forget that you and Tom are to join us for dinner tonight."

There was some delay as the riders of the _Sidhe_ were gathered from the various games, rides and booths of the festival. Oriana insisted Cassidy ride behind her, Caedmon took the knight she displaced with him and Harry rode with Ahern. They set off at an easy pace to DeLancey's farm.

Ironically, the sense of unreality that had plagued Harry since before the parade lifted once they left the village and he realized once again his mind felt the familiar touch of another. Tom's thoughts seemed a bit anxious and Harry thought it served him right for leaving him in the village. His spirits improved, Harry questioned Ahern about his family's relationship with the Riddles. "So, in every generation a daughter of your family marries a son of his family. Does it have to be a blood relation, or can it be someone else?"

"You mean a friend, perhaps?" Ahern said perceptively, looking over to Oriana and Cassidy together in deep conversation.

"Well, that too. I wondered if Tom were to adopt a son if that would fulfil the terms of the alliance."

"I suspect as long as both families agree, the match would be magically binding," Ahern told him. "If Oriana wishes to marry him that would be good enough for my parents. I have six older sisters, Harry! You have no idea how happy I'll be when they all leave home!"

DeLancey's farm seemed much quieter than the others they had passed. Harry slid gratefully down from the Ahern's horse and went to check the vehicles parked in the driveway. Oriana and Cassidy had ridden to the corral. "Where is Bellinos?" she demanded. "What has happened to my friend's cattle?"

Ahern dismounted from his horse and handed the reins to one of the knights. "We sent them home with Peredur," he admitted. "I thought we were at war, what with the Border being down. Don't be upset with me – I'll be sure to bring back his herd and make him a gift of a fine heifer. Even though it was his carelessness that caused all this."

Oriana took Cassidy inside the house to check on Mr. DeLancey while Ahern, Caedmon and Harry began to walk toward the barns to find and inspect the damaged ward.

"Riders coming!" someone called and several horsemen from their party cantered past toward the hill, where a cluster of mounted warriors with pennants could be seen.

"It's probably your father, taking a look for himself," Caedmon suggested. Ahern called to have their horses brought up.

Harry looked curiously at the three horsemen a little in advance of the group riding down from the hill. One of them appeared familiar, and though they were still too far away for him to be certain, Harry couldn't help the grin spreading over his face.

That was the moment the manticore attacked.


	18. Chapter 18

The Luck of Little Hangleton by Pipenerd (2006)

Written for the 2006 Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to**: Sabrina Numair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs:** Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

The horses screamed and everyone scattered as something huge and reddish-coloured hurtled from the tall grass. Ahern's horse reared and plunged as he was trying to mount and he fell flat on his back. A shadow passed overhead as the manticore brought down his horse, and Ahern rolled to avoid the flailing hooves. The knight holding the reins of the riderless horses let them go and the animals galloped away, screening Ahern from the monster long enough for him to regain his feet and catch a spear someone tossed to him. The pathetic screams of the dying horse and fearsome roars of the manticore followed Caedmon and Harry as they ran with desperate speed toward one of the barns and the mounted warriors regrouping there.

"Warn the riders from the fort!" Caedmon ordered as spears were handed down to them.

"I don't know how to use this!" Harry protested, trying to keep up with Caedmon as he sprinted across the yard.

"Then hold it for me!" Caedmon shouted over his shoulder.

The manticore was crouched, growling, about two metres from Ahern and the mounted knight. As Harry and Caedmon stumbled to a halt, the oversized human head turned on its abnormally long, fur-covered neck to regard them. It snarled, displaying three rows of dagger-like teeth, and lashed menacingly its sting-tipped tail. Its eyes were clear blue and completely devoid of human emotion.

Heart pounding, Harry faced the manticore and realized this was exactly the kind of situation Tom constantly worried about him getting into. A sensation of concentrated heat against his side reminded him of the watch in his pocket, but there was no time to analyze what it was doing as the monster crouched and roared. Harry transferred the spear to his left hand, drew his wand with his right and began hurling spells. "_Stupefy! Evanesca! Petrificus Totallus! Septum Sempra!_ " The leonine form shifted on its great paws and lunged toward him with another roar as sprays of red light exploded harmlessly near it. One spell struck the massive body and the manticore reared back as blood spurted from a gash in its side.

"A flesh wound. So much for magic," Caedmon remarked with a grin, hefting the spear. "Though I admit it takes courage to face a monster with just a twig for protection."

"I'm just getting started!" Harry retorted. "_Incendio!_" Flames gushed from the tip of his wand and the manticore dodged backward to escape.

The horse next to Ahern whinnied nervously and the manticore fixed its attention upon it and attacked. The _Sidhe_ horse danced sideways, gauged the assault and with a powerful leap sailed over the monster's back. Before the manticore could regain its balance, Caedmon rushed forward and plunged his spear into its left shoulder, darting beyond the reach of the paw that swiped at him. At the same time, Ahern threw himself forward, burying his weapon in the monster's throat. Just as the two spears pierced the creature, Harry aimed his wand, shouting, "_Avada Kedavra_!" and the manticore was enveloped in green light. Ahern drew his sword as the creature straightened its legs beneath it and they faced each other, eye to eye for one heart-stopping moment. Then the manticore toppled sideways and fell dead at his feet.

Ahern resheathed his sword. "Hey, Caedmon!" he called cheerfully. "Do you think this might impress Nerissa if we brought it home?"

Oriana and Cassidy had been watching from the house and now hurried outside. Then, in a thunder of hooves, the riders from the fort arrived, pouring into the yard from all sides and adding to the shouts and rising dust.

Arthuis dismounted and stood surveying the scene. "Nice work," he commented. "Anyone hurt?"

Harry saw Tom scrambling down from his horse and ran to him. "Where have you been?" he exclaimed happily as Tom hugged him.

"'And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy!' " Tom said, laughing.

"It's a _manticore_," Harry corrected. "How did you meet up with these guys?"

"I'll tell you all about it later." Keeping one arm around Harry, he turned and said, "This is Sir Simon de Ryedel, my several-times-great-grandfather. Sir Simon, this is Harry. He's a Gryffindor."

Simon looked from the manticore to Harry. "Were you in on the kill?" he demanded.

"Well, yes," Harry acknowledged. "I used magic."

"Godric would have been pleased," Simon told him with a twinkle in his eye.

Tom whispered to Harry, "Tell him about Gryffindor's sword. He'll be impressed."

Sir Simon dismounted and listened as Harry began to describe his battle with the basilisk.

"Lord Voldemort!" Arthuis called across the yard. Tom turned to him. "Would it be possible for you to enchant this beast so we can take it back to the fort as a trophy?"

"Easily done, Lord of Elmet!" Tom replied. The manticore's body rose into the air and thick ropes appeared to enable the _Sidhe_ to pull it back up the hill. The chieftain waved his thanks and turned to give orders to his men about Ahern's dead horse.

Harry had finished his story and Sir Simon had gone to congratulate Ahern and Caedmon. "There's a damaged ward in back of the barns that needs to be repaired," Harry told Tom. "I haven't had a chance to examine it yet."

"Too preoccupied with your new friends, I expect," Tom remarked, but the affection in his expression belied his bantering tone of voice. "Perhaps I should come along to look at it with you. Splitting up is probably a bad idea."

Harry looked at him sharply. "Are you admitting I was right?"

"Yes," Tom answered.

"Oh," Harry said. He entwined his fingers with Tom's and they walked hand-in-hand toward the hill together.

**A/N: **The bit of verse Tom quoted is from Lewis Carroll's 'Jabberwocky.'

As I was writing this section, Mr. Pipenerd helpfully described the action in a sad imitation of a Texan accent, as Robert E. Howard might have done. I'm sure you're all disappointed that the "pantherish grace" and "rippling thews", as well as the character of Zenobia, the dancing girl, didn't make the final cut.


	19. Chapter 19

The Luck of Little Hangleton by Pipenerd (2006)

Written for the 2006 Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to**: Sabrina Numair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs:** Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

That evening, a brightly-lit pavilion appeared on the front lawn of the Riddle mansion and a feast was served to the friends of the owners, Mr. Tom Riddle and Mr. Harry Potter. Lord Arthuis of Elmet was presiding over one end of the great table inside the tent. His wife sat on his right, on his left was his son Ahern, and his six daughters were there with the nobles of his court were seated along the sides of the table according to rank. Caedmon, Prince of Lochlann, had successfully made his suit to Ahern's sister Nerissa and she wore a ring with a dazzling gemstone as a pledge of their troth. Oriana, Art's oldest daughter, was continuing what would probably be a life-long discussion with Cassidy York, the son of the Mayor of Little Hangleton. On her other side was Geoff DeLancey. Across from him, John Coats sat with his wife. Messrs. Riddle and Potter sat at the top of the table with Sir Simon de Ryedel on their right and Daphne York on their left.

One of Lord Arthuis' servants refilled Harry and Tom's cups with mead. "The term 'honeymoon' originates from the custom of newlyweds drinking this every day for the first month of their marriage," Tom said as they touched their cups together.

"I hope they limited their consumption, or they would have spent the entire time comatose," Harry commented. They were holding hands and listening to snippets of conversation from around the table.

"I suppose you're disappointed," Harry said suddenly.

"What do you mean, love?" Tom asked.

Harry reached in his pocket and set the pocket watch Tom had given him on the table. 'I didn't have an opportunity to activate this."

Tom picked up the timepiece and turned it over in his hands. "Just what do you suppose this is?"

"A Horcrux blank," Harry answered, steadily meeting his gaze.

"And on what do you base that assumption?" Tom continued, smiling indulgently.

"It's full of Dark magic, to start with," Harry asserted.

"Do you think so?" Tom asked. "Let's see. _Specialis Revelio!_ Why, Harry, you're right! Look at all theses curses! A curse to strike your enemy dead, one to ruin his aim, another to destroy his eyesight. Dark stuff, indeed. Oh, and some hexes: Stinging, Hurling – well, nothing terribly interesting. Jinxes: Impediment, Trip, Stretching – Jelly Brains? I'm sure I would have remembered – oh, well. Charms: Confusion, Shield, Disarming…It seems that a few of these have been used. Do you know what I think this is?" He turned to Harry, who looked distinctly embarrassed. "I think this is a protective talisman. Whoever made this must care very much for you to have gone to such effort."

Harry reached for the watch, but Tom covered it with his hand. "If you find this disturbing, I'll keep it."

"No, that's all right," Harry said. "Give it back to me."

"You're just being polite," Tom admonished, moving it beyond his reach. "I'll destroy it."

Harry leaned across him and tried to pry it out of his fingers. "Don't be a prat," he said.

"I don't want to force you to accept a gift you don't really want," Tom persisted.

"Stop it!" Harry said, smiling apologetically. "I'm unappreciative and unworthy of your thoughtfulness. Now will you please give me my watch?"

Tom pushed it in front of him. "You're welcome," he said smugly. Harry hurriedly picked it up and put it back in his pocket. Tom smiled at him as he took another sip of mead.

"Do you think we could leave soon?" Harry asked abruptly.

"What do you have in mind?"

Harry shrugged. "It's Midsummer night. I thought you wanted to pick some of the magical plants growing in the woods behind your family's cottage."

"Do you think we're cognizant enough at this point to identify plants in the middle of the night?" Tom asked skeptically.

"Come on," Harry cajoled. "If we don't go, we'll have to wait until next year."

"When we can be rested and better prepared, you mean?" Tom sighed.

Harry squeezed his hand. "It will be worth it," he promised. "Come on."

Tom stood up. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for the pleasure of your company on this magical evening. Unfortunately, Harry and I must leave soon, since, unlike the rest of you, we do not live nearby." There were murmurs of regret from all sides and they began to make their way around the table to take leave of their relatives and new friends. 

**A/N:** The food and drink are not of fairy origin, so it's safe for human – and wizard – consumption.


	20. Chapter 20

The Luck of Little Hangleton by Pipenerd (2006)

Written for the 2006 Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to**: Sabrina Numair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs:** Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

Harry stopped abruptly and looked around. "Do you have any idea where we are?"

"No," said Tom with a chuckle. "But it's not as if we can't Apparate out of here. There looks to be a clearing ahead. Perhaps we can see if the cottage is nearby."

They headed off to the left, where moonlight was streaming through a break in the trees, and emerged into a scene of story-book enchantment. The trees gave way to shrubs which were embellished with the faint light of glow worms. A carpet of fragrant wildflowers and herbs stretched to the banks of a small stream, trickling and splashing over rocks to create a miniature waterfall. Moonlight created dazzling sparkles on the surface of the water, and bats swooped and flitted above, ceaselessly hunting insects. The warm night breeze swept waves of perfume around the glade and the music of the water drew them across the clearing to stand beside the stream.

"This is amazing," Harry said in a hushed voice.

They stood in silent admiration as minutes passed. Then there was rustling, and a doe stepped on delicate hooves to the edge of the stream. She paused nervously, sniffing the air, her eyes moving past them as they waited in suspense, hardly daring to breathe. Bending gracefully, she lowered her head to drink, ears alert, eyes moving ceaselessly. At her soft "huff", two fawns appeared, picking their way down to their mother's side with ears twitching. She maintained a vigilant stance while they drank. Then, at another "huff", the twins scampered back up the embankment, followed by their watchful mother and they all vanished into the darkness.

Harry took a breath and turned to Tom, who was already leaning closer. Harry reached for him, eyes closing, and found Tom's lips with his. As they kissed, their need for each other grew, but time seemed to have stopped and they were in no hurry. Tom watched distantly as Harry assembled the components of a charm and felt it brush past as it was cast. Laughing, they turned to see the effect. A bed woven of branches and covered with a silken cushion and pillows had appeared in a sheltered bower bedecked with night-blooming flowers.

"I love you more than anything in the world," Harry said softly, kissing him again.

"Show me," Tom whispered.

Nights around the time of the summer solstice are among the shortest of the year and so the brief hours of darkness are even more precious. Though the moon had now set and the stars still shone brilliantly, the balance of the planet had shifted and the very air bespoke the approach of dawn.

"Midsummer day is over," Harry said quietly. "The year is dying and the Holly King will rule until the Winter solstice."

"This is a change," Tom wryly noted. "Usually _I'm_ the cynic and _you're_ the romantic. "

"You should say something romantic, then. Recite poetry, or something."

"I quoted Lewis Carroll to you yesterday."

"_Jabberwocky_ is not romantic…and don't get me started."

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"

"To yesterday? Or just a summer's day in general?"

"Thou art more lovely and more temperate," Tom continued, ignoring him.

"Oh," said Harry. "You _d_o mean yesterday."

_"Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May and summer's lease has all too short a date.  
Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines, and often is his gold complexion dimmed,  
And everything fair from fairness declines, by chance or nature's changing course untrimmed.  
But thy eternal summer shall not fade, nor lose possession of that fairness you own,  
Nor shall Death brag you wander in his shade when in eternal lines to time you have grown.  
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, so long lives this, and gives life to thee." _

Tom saw Harry's eyes sparkling in the darkness. "That's beautiful," Harry whispered. "Did you learn it for me?"

"Everything I do is for you," Tom said tenderly. "No, please, love! You've completely worn me out!"

Harry laughed as they hugged. "It's nearly daybreak, and I don't believe we're going to be able to sleep. Should we gather up our things and go home?"

"Good idea," Tom agreed. "Sleep will doubtless be more appealing after a shower and breakfast." He kissed Harry. "It was an incredible night, love. You were wonderful."

"It was almost like a second wedding night," Harry said, smiling happily. "We're so lucky to be together."

Their clothes were scattered across the clearing and they had to illuminate their wands to find everything. Tom had just about given up on his tie and was becoming annoyed because it was one Harry had given him. Finally, after several summoning spells had failed, the white silk in the predominantly green design caught the light and he saw it was tangled in the branches of a sapling. Untangling the silk, he noticed something else that drew his curiosity.

"Harry," he called, "come take a look at this."

Harry had mostly dressed and was just buttoning is shirt. "What have you found?"

"There's a sort of stone marker behind these saplings," Tom said, trying to push away branches and ivy.

Harry tried a cleaning charm, but that just made the stone sparkle faintly.

"Stand clear," Tom directed. _"Incendio!" _ The vegetation burst into flame.

"That's an historic monument!" Harry complained as Tom stepped back to watch the fire. "And I hope those trees weren't some endangered species."

Tom extinguished the flames and did a _Scourgify_ to clear the scorched surface. "Dark. Wizard," he said cheerfully. "_I _hope none of that was poison ivy."

Hey examined the stone by the light of their wands.

"That's a lion," Harry pointed out.

Tom chuckled. "More than that - it's the Gryffindor crest."

They walked around to the other side of the marker and neither was surprised to see the Slytherin arms.

"This must mark the border of Salazar and Godric's lands," Harry said.

"I just found out about that myself," Tom said with a puzzled expression. "How did you - ?"

"I had a history lesson, too," Harry told him. "What's the chance we'd have found this place and made love here?"

Tom held his hands above the surface of the stone. "There's magic here, Harry. It drew us here, just as it influences the peacefulness of the clearing. You might just as well ask, what was the chance a Gaunt would fall in love with a Riddle?"

Harry tried to absorb that. "Are you saying Gryffindor and Slytherin caused your parents to fall in love?"

Tom's hands fell to his side. "I just don't know. I spent most of the day in a _Sidhe _fort with my many-times-great-grandfather, you were attacked by a manticore, and now all this." He turned to Harry. "Magic permeates our lives, and we'll never know for sure what caused any of this to happen."

Harry took his hand. "Maybe love permeates our lives, and magic is what caused it all."

"I'm so tired, that nearly made sense," Tom said with a smile.

A lark suddenly began to call in the branches of a nearby tree. A few seconds later, the forest erupted in a chorus of birdsong.

"It's morning," Harry said. "Let's go home." He stepped into Tom's arms and they disappeared.

"I never may believe these antique fables, nor these fairy toys."

-Theseus, Duke of Athens, _A Midsummer Night's Dream, _Act V, Scene I.

A/N: The verse Tom recites to Harry is Sonnet Eighteen by William Shakespeare.


	21. Chapter 21

Midsummer Day, 2073

The Luck of Little Hangleton by Pipenerd (2006)

Written for the 2006 Dark Lord WishFest.

**Prompt:** "...a romantic situation where Tom/Harry make love in a forest on Midsummer's Eve, then afterwards Tom softly recites Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare to Harry. I do not mind what the rating is as long as the love between Tom and Harry is evident..."

**Thanks to**: Sabrina Numair, most patient of Betas, and Mr. Pipenerd, who played Kit Marlowe to my Will Shakespeare during the writing of this fic.

**Pairs:** Harry/Tom (Lord Voldemort), Hermione/Ron.

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. looks in mirror Nope, not her. Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.

"I'm so glad those storms finally moved out of the area. We've been able to collect all the herbs on our wish list!"

"Yes, and we'd better put the Vervain and St. John's Wort in the oven to quick-dry as soon as we get home. We should be plenty of time before the parade starts."

"You know, I was a bit surprised at how the fields and woods around the village have remained so pristine. There's so much development going on these days."

"That's partly because of the school up on the hill. They own quite a bit of property hereabouts. Nice that they're demonstrating stewardship of the land."

"You mean that big house is a school? What kind of school is it?"

"I'm not exactly sure, but I've heard it's terribly exclusive. The students are all older and it seems as if they only offer graduate-level seminars and workshops. I was at the cafe´ one evening when a couple of the staff came in. They were dressed rather artistically and since they were talking about local legends, I thought they must be teaching a class in folklore."

They stopped in a sunny clearing. A carpet of fragrant wildflowers and grasses stretched to the banks of the small stream that trickled and splashed over rocks to create a miniature waterfall.

"_T__his_is why I suggested we take this path back home."

"Oh! It's truly lovely, dear. You can feel the presence of the Lady…This would be a wonderful place to celebrate the moons and Sabbats!"

"And so I have. But you really must see this!"

"A standing stone? This is too perfect! And is that a dragon?"

"It's a serpent, and there's a lion on the other side. The bit I find fascinating is that our Oak King wears a lion on his coat of arms, and the Holly King's device is a serpent."

"It looks as if some of the local teenagers have been enjoying this spot, as well. Do you know anyone with those initials?"

"No, but then I haven't lived here long enough to learn the names of the local families. From the inscription, I think we can assume the presence of the Lady must have touched them as well."

"Whoever they are, I hope the Lady blesses their love."

"So mote it be."

"This stone is simply _humming_ with positive energy! I want to leave an offering here for Her."

"You're earrings? Are you sure, dear?"

"I can always make another pair. And don't they look pretty, sparkling among the leaves?"

"I'm certain She'll enjoy them. Honestly, this is why I love you so much!"

"I love you, too. The moon will be full at the end of the week. I can't wait to come back here!"

"I'm so glad you like this place. We should think about getting these herbs home; it would be disrespectful to let them wilt. I think you're going to enjoy the festivities in the village this afternoon…" Their voices faded as they left the clearing.

The Midsummer's Day sun filtered through the trees, casting a warm light on the serpent-etched side of the monument. Beneath the coat of arms, letters were engraved within the outline of a heart: TR+HP. A sense of tranquility radiated from the stone across the glade, and the sounds of distant laughter drifted on the breeze.

_Finis__  
_

**Author's Notes: ** Thank you for reading! Little Hangleton has reached a sort of benchmark: over 9,000 hits! Sadly, only a dozen readers have left comments! If you read it and found something enjoyable, I would love to hear from you. All comments will be answered!


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